Daughter of an Outcast 2: A Threat
by mily.alice
Summary: Something is coming...that's what the man in her dream says...something is coming. But what? *Sequel to A Father!* **Temporary Hiatus, will be undergoing reconstruction after A Father**
1. Under Surveillance

**So here it is! Part 2 of the Daughter of an Outcast series. I had such wonderful, beautiful reviews that I KNEW I needed to hurry up and get this one up. This story is set in Harry Potter's 4th year, and therefore Lizzie's 5th year along with Katie. Fred, George, Angelina, and Lee are 6th years. **

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, plots, etc are property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.**_

_"Something is coming," the man says. At least, it looks like a man. It's really just a shadow, or an outline. Something shaped like a person with long hair._

_ "What?"_

_ "Something is coming," he says, and a strange tapping sound starts to sound somewhere distant._

_ "What's coming?"_

_ Tap. Tap. Taptaptaptap._

TAPTAPTAPTAP!

A flood of light.

I open my eyes and shut them tight again quickly.

"Get up, little flower," says Uncle Remus, walking over to the window and pushing open the curtains, "I made breakfast."

"Someone's in a good mood," I grumble, still half asleep.

"I wouldn't say the same for this one," he answers, opening the window to let in my owl, Cleopatra.

"So that's what that was," I yawn, getting up slowly.

"Get dressed. I'll go wake your mother."

"Her door is locked," I answer as he walks out. Mum always locks the door at night. She never did before, but I think she's afraid her face will betray what her voice can't at night. It's not to say that our voices might not betray us anyway. We both live in fear of saying something, _anything_ that could cause suspicion. We've been doing far too well to get security heightened now.

I pull on a robe and walk toward Cleo's cage. She holds up her leg stiffly and turns her head away from me.

"Come on, don't be mad. I'm sorry I didn't open the window," I coo at my offended pet, "Did you enjoy the Weasley's?" She ruffles her feathers and turns to the water bowl.

I change quickly, pulling my hair back into a ponytail and rushing down the stairs of our new (and hopefully temporary) flat in London.

While it may be large for a flat, it's quite smaller than our house. I had to leave Dad's old library behind, along with many of my own books and other things that don't fit in my new bedroom. There are only two bedrooms, meaning that on the rare occasion that Uncle Remus stays, he has to sleep on the couch. To make matters worse, we can't go to his flat to take care of him after a full moon, since Ministry regulation says that only trained Healers can tend to werewolves after a full transformation. Uncle Remus has no Wolfsbane Potion and no one to take care of him.

As if I wasn't missing home enough, I might as well be living here alone. Mum has practically shut down since the day the Ministry started watching us. Seeing Dad and having to say goodbye to him was too much for her.

_ It was the day after I returned from school, and the sun was just starting to creep below the trees, casting a soft orange glow on everything. Dumbledore had managed to buy us two or three days without surveillance._

_ I had gone outside in search of flowers to put in the kitchen when the sound of four soft feet touching down on the grass caught my attention._

_ "Snuffles!" I yelled, unable to contain my excitement. Hopefully no one was watching, and they wouldn't find it strange that I knew the name of this stray._

_ The dog barked back and ran toward me. I kneeled and hugged its muzzle._

_ "Are you hungry?" I asked in a soft voice, careful not to drop the dog act now. He barked back, and I got up, motioning for the dog to follow me into the house._

_ The door opened silently just as I reached it, and Mum and I led the dog silently to the end of the hall, where the house seemingly ends. Just a touch of Mum's hand against the wall, and another door appeared, welcoming us into a large room with about a dozen chairs. When my dad built the house, he created this hidden room as both a safe room in case of an attack and a place for emergency order meetings, in case the location of Headquarters ever became compromised. Once or twice, it served as a place for Uncle Remus' transformations when he had nowhere else to go. Now, it's full of Dad's old books, his clothes, old family pictures, and anything else that could pass on as suspicious in a Ministry raid._

_ I walked toward the back wall of the room, where an old wardrobe sits, dusty and closed. Behind me, I heard the whisper of a shape shift and the sigh of a tired man before my mother took him in her arms, desperate to hold her husband again. I took my time picking out clothes, allowing them to make up for twelve years apart._

_ "Lizzie," Dad smiled after a few moments._

_ "Dad," I smiled back and flung my arms around him, "Where's Buckbeak?"_

_ "He's hidden deep in the woods," he assured, "I can't stay long. I flew back as soon as I read your letter. I knew that if I didn't come see you now, it might be ages before I did."_

_ "I'm glad you did," Mum smiled, taking his hand in hers._

_ "Here," I handed him the clothes, "I'm sorry we can't offer you a shower. The Ministry might get here any minute."_

_ "I understand," he nodded, "I've taken a few baths in some streams and I think I managed to get most of the grime out of my hair."_

_ "Well, you do smell better than last time," I joked, and he laughed a hearty laugh that made me feel warm from inside right out to my toes. _

_ He stayed for half an hour, talking, eating, and never letting go of our hands or shoulders or waists. After a long and tearful goodbye, he turned back into a dog, and Mum and I wiped our tears long enough to stand outside and watch him disappear into the woods. I smiled, keeping up the act of having just fed a stray. Mum, meanwhile, stood with a hardened face. She was masked in emotionless features, sobbing inside and unable to say a word._

The smell of pancakes reaches my nose as I walk downstairs now. Uncle Remus is setting three places at the table. It's pointless, really, because we'll be lucky if we can get Mum to drink half a glass of juice.

"Good morning," he smiles.

"Did you wake Mum?" I ask, taking my place at the breakfast table.

"I tried," he says in a low voice.

I hold in a sigh. Before, it would have been Mum who woke us up and made us pancakes before we left.

"Are you all packed?" asks Moony.

I nod, "I finished last night. You?"

He points to a large pack by door, "All there. Did you get the tent out?"

"Yes."

Uncle Remus and I are leaving today for the Quidditch World Cup. I managed to get excellent seats near the Top Box for the two of us, and we're to arrive this afternoon, a day before the match.

"The car will be here at eleven to take us to the house."

Since the majority of the Ministry of Magic thinks that Mum and I still live at home, our Portkey was set up deep in the woods that are next to the house. And seeing as we're not supposed to go anywhere that the Aurors can't watch us, we're being driven in a Ministry car back to my house with an Auror, who will then walk us to the Portkey.

I take the letter that Cleopatra was carrying out of my pocket.

"It's from Fred."

I rip open the parchment a bit too enthusiastically, making Uncle Remus raise his eyebrows in suspicion.

_Dear Lizzie,_

_ I hope I catch you before you leave. Dad told me you managed to get a campsite right next to ours! That's brilliant! _

_ Bill and Charlie arrived a few days ago, Hermione got here yesterday, and we'll be picking up Harry this afternoon. Are you still coming to stay with us after the match? I hope your mum and uncle don't mind. I guess you'll tell us at the match. _

_ Say hello to Professor Lupin for me. We'll see you tomorrow._

_ -Fred_

"I can still stay at the Weasley's for the rest of the summer, right?" I ask. I'm dying to get out of this hole.

"Of course," says Uncle Remus. As of late, he's become more responsible for me than Mum, "I will send all of your things there when I get back home."

Mum walks into the kitchen then, silent as always. Her hair stands out in strange places, and her face is stained with yesterday's make up.

"Go wash your face, Mum," I say, sounding a bit harsh. She turns around silently and walks back upstairs. Uncle Remus looks at me with slightly disappointed eyes, but says nothing. Mum returns ten minutes later, dressed in long green skirt and black blouse, her hair in a ponytail and her face clear of makeup.

At eleven o'clock, the honk of a car horn sounds outside the building.

"Mum," I turn to her, gripping both her shoulders, "Listen to me. Are you listening?"

She nods.

"I said are you listening?" I ask forcefully.

"Yes," she croaks, looking at her hands.

"Look at me. Mum," I force her head up, "Look at me. Uncle Remus will be back in two days. Take care of yourself. Eat. Sleep. Take a shower. I will see you at King's Cross on September 1st."

Unable to look at her anymore, I turn on my heel, grab my backpack, and walk out the door. Uncle Remus takes a while to say goodbye to Mum, and then we're both down on the street and being helped into the Ministry car by the driver.

"Mornin' Miss Black," the auror says from the passenger seat. I recognize her from the day we moved out of the house, mostly because of the bright purple hair. She was a seventh year Hufflepuff when I started Hogwarts.

"Er, hi…" I struggle to remember her name. I know it's something long and weird.

"Nymphadora Tonks," she smiles, turning in her seat to face me as my uncle slides into the seat behind her, "But don't call me Nymphadora."

"Then what do I call you?" I ask warily. Aurors are not exactly my favorite people in the world lately.

"Tonks," she laughs, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, "And who might this be?"

I'm 100% certain she knows exactly who he is, since she's been watching our house for the past few weeks, but I introduce them anyway.

"This is my uncle, Remus Lupin. Uncle Remus, this is Auror Nymphadora Tonks."

"We've met," says Uncle Remus, before seemingly realizing he's made quite a big mistake.

"We have?" Tonks asks in confusion, her head tilting to the side.

"Er…you were just a little girl…wouldn't remember…" Uncle Remus stampers.

The young auror swallows, her eyes going slightly wide, "Oh. Yes. I remember now. Yes, we've met before."

Tonks turns back toward the windshield as the car starts, and I chance a glance at my uncle, who shakes his head almost unnoticed. I'll have to ask later, once we're at the campsite and away from hearing devices and surveillance spells.

Halfway to the house, Tonks chances at talking again, "The Quidditch World Cup, eh? I wish I could go see it."

"Were you unable to get tickets?" Uncle Remus asks.

I'm only half listening as they chat about work hours and ticket prices. Instead, my mind drifts to my dad, as it usually does when I'm faced with a moment to myself. I wonder where he is. Harry mentioned the arrival of a letter by tropical bird in his last letter. According to the will Mum showed me years ago, when I still thought my father was dead, he owns a small island near the Bahamas. If he were a free man, as he should be, what would he be doing now? We'd probably be at home, preparing to take a Portkey to the Quidditch World Cup together. Mum would be happy. She would sleep, eat, laugh, maybe even sing and dance about like she usually does.

The Ministry car drops us off outside the house, and I do my best to hold in the tears that spring to my eyes when I take in the grimy windows and the overgrown garden.

"We've not been gone a month, and it already looks abandoned," I whisper, knowing that Uncle Remus will hear me anyway. It's been three days since the last transformation, so his senses and reflexes are strong, but his body is still a bit weak.

"Come, little flower, we don't want to miss our Portkey."

Tonks walks ahead of us, leading us through the woods so that we don't get lost. It's pointless, really. I know these woods by heart. How many times have I been out here looking for unicorns with my mother?

Halfway to the stream, Tonks stumbles over a tree root. My uncle lashes forward, his advanced reflexes making his arm a blur as he catches her by the elbow.

"Sorry. Dead clumsy," she laughs, "The only reason I passed my stealth exams is because I'm a metamorphagus."

"A what?" I ask.

"Someone who can change their appearance at will," Uncle Remus explains before she can. His voice takes on a playful, reminiscent tone as he adds, "They are very rare. Nymphadora is one in five of all of Western Europe that have this ability."

Tonks whips around quickly, almost tripping again but managing to regain her balance, "I knew it! I knew it was you!"

Uncle Remus smiles rather grimly, "You're not going to place surveillance on me, as well, are you?"

"No."

"Can someone please explain to me what's going on?" I ask, waving my hands.

"Your uncle used to help your father babysit." Tonks smiles, turning forward again and continuing to walk.

"Babysit? Who?" I ask.

"Me!" she laughs, "I'm sure I caused them a few premature grey hairs."

"You were the most unruly six year old in history," Moony laughs and turns to me, "She used to make Snuffles give her rides around the back yard for an hour, and if we didn't give her what she wanted she would hold her breath until we did."

"I would even make my face turn blue for effect."

"That's how you knew each other," I say. They nod and it goes quiet again.

"Tonks?" I ask after a minute.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember him?" I chance, hoping that I'm not making a huge mistake.

"Your dad?" she guesses without turning around, "Yeah. I remember him. I remember him pretty well. And…can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure," I shrug and turn to my uncle. He's holding his breath.

"I know I was only about eight when they took him, but I have a rather good memory, and the man I remember would have never betrayed Lily and James. And he sure as hell would have never done anything that would keep him away from you."

"What are you saying?" Uncle Remus asks warily.

"I'm saying that the only reason I joined this bloody surveillance force was so that I could look for clues to prove that my cousin is innocent," she says forcefully. My heart flies to my throat in excitement. We have an ally, and she's a part of the Ministry. But as her words sink in, my heart sinks back into the pit of my stomach.

"Good luck with that," I say bitterly, "The only piece of evidence in his favor is a rat missing a toe who is hiding in who knows where. And unless you have a way of examining every single rat in all of Britain, I wouldn't get too hopeful."

"So I've heard," she says, "After the incident at Hogwarts, I overheard the Minister saying that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had been cursed into believing that Sirius was innocent, and that for a moment he actually thought Dumbledore had believed them. So I went to Hogwarts and talked to the Headmaster myself, and we came up with as many ways as we could to postpone the surveillance, and I made sure that I was the only one watching when Sirius came to visit you."

"You've been helping us all this time?" I ask.

"Of course," she says, "Families have to look out for each other, don't they? Mum hasn't talked to Regina in ages, but she's wanted to. I suppose she just didn't know what to say. This is it."

I look toward the tree she's pointing at. Hidden between the roots, almost impossible to see if you aren't looking for it is an old glass milk bottle. Tonks grabs it and places it between my uncle and me. We're standing at the edge of the stream that marks the end of our land.

"Tonks, will there be surveillance for us at the Cup?" I ask.

She shakes her head, "We managed to convince everyone that there wasn't a point to it, since there would be Ministry officials everywhere and your tent will be stationed between Arthur Weasley and Rodrick Croaker from the Department of Mysteries."

"I know who Croaker is," I nod, scrunching my nose in distaste. "He always gets drunk at the Department Christmas Parties and tries to make Mum dance with him."

"He's not exactly my favorite person, either," says Tonks, "But he'll be drunk and out like a light by nightfall and the two of you will get some peace."

"Thank you," says Uncle Remus.

She waves her hand around as if to wave away his words, "Bah. You better grab hold of that bottle. You're set to leave in forty seconds."

"Thanks again," I say, taking hold of the bottle's neck, "For everything."

"No problem. Have fun," she smiles, and with one last wink she disappears in a whirlwind of colors.

After a minute of colors and wind and a strange sensation in my stomach, my feet hit the ground hard, making my heels tingle.

"Fourteen past twelve from Black Stream."

One of the two strangely dressed men checks us off the list. Uncle Remus hands him the milk bottle, which he tosses into a large box.

"Black and Lupin, is it?"

"Yes."

"About a quarter of a mile in that direction, first field. The sight manager is Mr. Roberts."

"Thank you."

We walk for twenty minutes until we reach the cottage where Mr. Roberts is charging. I turn to look at my uncle every now and then, but he's covering up how tired I know he must be.

"You're the first normal people I've seen all morning," the man says as he hands us our change and a map of the campsite, "Plenty of weirdos walking around all this week. I'd keep a close watch on your daughter, sir."

Uncle Remus nods and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the campsite. Mr. Roberts seems to be right. Having spent a lot of time in the muggle village near the cottage, Uncle Remus and I have got dressing like a muggle down to an art. With Uncle Remus in a light blue jumper and trousers, and me in dark wash jeans and a green hiking jacket, we don't stand out at all the way some other people do.

"Why would they station everybody at a muggle campsite?" I ask, "Isn't it risky?"

"I doubt there's any place in the Wizarding World with enough space for everyone. I imagine they've got plenty of Obliviators taking care of poor Mr. Roberts."

We walk for about half an hour, encountering mostly normal tents, but every now and then there will be a tent so extravagant that there's no reason for Mr. Roberts not to be suspicious. We finally reach two empty spots at the edge of the forest.

"The Weasleys aren't here yet?" Uncle Remus asks as we put down our heavy backpacks.

"They're in the Top Box, so they don't have to get here until tomorrow morning. They'll be picking Harry up later today."

I help Uncle Remus set up the tent, although I don't actually have an idea of what I'm doing. My grandparents used to take him and Mum camping when they were little, so Uncle Remus already knows how to set up a tent the muggle way.

"After you," he says when it's all set.

I ordered this tent from Diagon Alley two weeks ago. The description said it was a luxury tent, and my first look at it definitely lives up to my expectations.

"This thing is nicer than our _house_," I say when Uncle Remus enters.

There's a large sitting area in gold and purple hues, a kitchen with a granite countertop, an ornate dining table with a crystal chandelier above it, a deep purple curtain to the right that leads to Uncle Remus' room, and a gold one to the left that leads to my room.

"How much did this cost you?" Uncle Remus asks in a tone that says I should not have splurged on it.

"What does it matter?"

"Elizabeth," he half-growls.

"It was on sale, I swear!" I raise my hands above my head, "There's no need to get all animalistic."

"Sorry," he bows his head sheepishly.

"It's alright. I'm hungry. Let's make lunch."

We make lunch in the kitchen, and after we've eaten we go exploring about the camp. The entire place is one giant wizard party. In the evening, we make dinner outside on a muggle fire and turn in early. As I'm crawling into bed, I pull a leather bound book out of my backpack and prop it up against the clock on the bedside table, open to one of the center pages.

"I miss you, Dad," I whisper and touch the younger looking face of my father on his wedding day, "But Tonks is going to help us see you again."

**TOOOOOONNNNKKKSS! I don't know about all of you, but I adore Tonks. Mostly because she reminds me that somebody who is awkward and clumsy and different can be awesome and end up marrying the intellectual older man of her dreams. But also because she is too awesome. **

**So yeah, you can expect lots of love for Tonks in this series. **


	2. The Quidditch World Cup

**Soooo I know that a couple of you are excited to see what's in store for Lizzie and a certain Weasley twin. Well, Lizzie gets to see said twin in this chapter for the first time all summer!**

_**Disclaimer: I don not own, nor make money off of this or anything else related to Harry Potter.**_

I'm stirred awake the next morning by the sounds of half a million excited wizards. A look at the clock next to my bed reveals that it's eight thirty in the morning, and I stretch gratefully at being able to sleep in, remembering days when sleep would leave at 4 a.m. and refuse to return until past midnight. I get up slowly at first, my groggy head still wondering why everybody is so excited. Slowly, my brain catches up, and my movements become faster.

The Quidditch World Cup is today!

"Fred and George!" I exclaim to myself, rushing to get dressed at the thought of seeing my two best friends for the first time all summer.

Uncle Remus is sitting in one of the armchairs reading a muggle book when I walk out of the room, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Morning, Moony." I walk up to him and kiss his cheek.

"Good morning, my Rose petal."

"What are you reading?"

"The collection of the Grimm brother's fairytales," he says, "They were Squibs, you know?"

"Really?" I yawn as he closes the book and nods.

"Breakfast?"

"Yes, please," I smile and walk toward the kitchen to grab something to cook outside.

"Lizzie!" a voice to my right calls as I set down a pan and some eggs next to the remains of last night's fire. I turn around and spot Harry, Ron, and Hermione walking toward us carrying a kettle and saucepans full of water. I smile and wave enthusiastically, taking a step toward them.

"LIZZIEEEEEEEEE!"

I barely have time to turn around before I'm knocked to the ground by two overly excited hugs.

"Hmph! Gu-uys!" I whine at the two redheads that fell on top of my stomach, "Get off!"

We laugh as the two boys untangle themselves from each other and stand up. They each hold out a hand and lift me onto my feet.

"Now was that really necessary?" I ask, putting my hands on my hips.

"We missed you," says George.

"So did I," I smile and hug them both properly, "What time did you get here?"

"About five in the morning," answers Fred as I walk toward the Weasley tents to great the rest of them.

"Lizzie!" Mr. Weasley says brightly, getting up from the spot where Hermione is teaching him to use matches, "Wonderful to see you."

"Hi, Mr. Weasley. How are you?"

"Fine, fine. Having a bit of trouble with the matches," he smiles sheepishly in a way that reminds me of Fred and George.

"Hello, Lizzie!" Hermione smiles when she's managed to light the firewood. I hug her and move on to greet Ron.

"How's your leg?" I whisper.

"All good. It's like nothing ever happened," he assures.

"Harry," I smile and hug him tightly, "How are you?"

"I'm alright," he says, then whispers, "Are _you_ alright?"

"Better than last year," I mumble back, making sure that Mr. Weasley is busy chatting with Uncle Remus, "Have you heard from him?"

"Just those last two times," he says, "I wrote to him on Sunday, but he hasn't answered. Maybe he's gone farther away."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Uncle Remus and Mr. Weasley get the fires lit, but it takes about an hour before we can cook anything. In the meantime, I chat with Fred and George about what they've been up to this summer, including the destruction of their joke products.

"She refuses to take us seriously. Every day, all she talks about is how we didn't get enough O.W.L.s."

"And how she wants us to go into the Ministry of Magic."

"It's maddening," they say together.

"At least your mother talks to you," I say glumly, earning two confused looks. I launch into the story of what's been going on this past summer, including the visit from Dad at the beginning of the summer and being escorted by Tonks (although I left out her secret plan for proving my father's innocence). I'm interrupted every time a Ministry official passes by, which happens often, seeing as our tents are right beside the path between the campsite and the field.

"Wow," George says when I finally finish, "That's tough."

"She's taking it pretty hard," I sigh and run a hand through my hair. A couple of Ministry witches walk past, slowing down and staring at me when they pass by, then looking at Mr. Weasley as if making sure that he's watching me, "I hate that everybody keeps looking at me like some sort of circus attraction."

"If only you were a Metamorphagus like that Auror lady," says Fred.

I look at him for a bit, an idea starting to form in my head, "Fred Weasley, you are a genius!"

"I already knew that," he says, "But why are you mentioning it now?"

I stand up and walk towards Hermione and Ginny, who are sitting on a log in front of the fire.

"Hermione, you wouldn't happen to have brought any make up, would you?" I ask, taking in her much tanner skin.

"Not much, why?"

"Just go get it and meet me in my tent. Ginny, you too," I say, "I'm going to need a favor."

"I think that's enough," I nod, looking in the mirror at my new look.

"You don't look so much like you anymore," Ginny agrees from my bed, "Anyone who doesn't know you well won't bother to look twice."

I sigh in relief. Ginny's right. I don't look much like me. My unruly black curls, usually in a ponytail, have been smoothed down to soft waves with the help of a heat charm from my wand and a round hairbrush. I've left it down to frame my face, covering some of my facial structure that is so signature Black. With the help of a Bronzer from Ginny and some of Hermione's cover up, my pale white skin has gained a slightly golden glow, and Ginny's application of blush has somehow made my cheeks look rounder.

"Something is still missing," says Hermione, circling behind me, "You're still acting too much like you. Try slouching a bit."

"Slouching?" I ask, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Yes. You always walk so straight and hold your head up."

"I can't help it," I say, "Holding my nose up in the air is a signature family trait."

"Well then try walking a bit more like your uncle," says Ginny, "Look at the floor a bit more, hunch your shoulders forward and set your feet a bit farther apart. And keep most of your weight on one leg."

"Like this?" I ask, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jacket and turning my face down.

"Perfect," says Hermione.

"Now," says Ginny, holding up a pair of scissors that were in the drawer, "Just one more thing. Do you trust me?"

"I'm not sure," I eye the scissors warily, "You were raised around Fred and George."

"I promise not to cut off either of your ears."

I gasp and grab at both my ears, making Ginny laugh.

"I'm joking! Just trust me." she says, getting off the bed and walking towards me, "Close your eyes."

I close my eyes slowly, still feeling apprehensive. Ginny pulls at some of my hair, snips once, twice, three times before speaking again.

"There. Take a look."

I turn back to the mirror. She's cut some straight across bangs just above my eyes.

"I've always thought bangs would suit you," Ginny admits.

"You look a lot like Professor Lupin," says Hermione.

"I look like my Mum. Which I guess is the same thing, since they're twins," I muse. It's true. With bangs and softer angles in my face, I look more like a Lupin than a Black.

"Now just change your clothes," says Ginny, "You wear so many dark colors."

"They're rich colors." I correct, "They suit my complexion."

"Well now you have a new complexion," says Ginny, opening the small wardrobe next to the mirror and pulling out a lilac shirt and a pair of light washed jeans, "Here. Put these on. We'll see you outside. I think breakfast is ready."

I change quickly, the smell of eggs and sausages reaching my nose. When I step outside Uncle Remus stares for a bit, then smiles and nods in approval. Ron does a double take, Harry gapes a bit, and the twins whistle.

"To what do we owe this?" asks Uncle Remus.

"I was tired of people scowling at me," I shrug.

"Maybe I should get a look change, too," Harry mumbles. I laugh and bump my shoulder against his.

Uncle Remus and I take our food over to the Weasley's camp to eat breakfast together. I sit squashed between Fred and George on a small log, bumping elbows with Fred every time I try to use my fork.

"Guys, I think you're suffocating your friend," Charlie points out as I try to take a swig of pumpkin juice, "That log's only made for two."

"I'll solve that problem," says Fred. Figuring that he means to stand up, I'm taken completely unawares when he rams against me, making me slide to the left and push George off onto the ground. George's food lands neatly on his shirt, but my sausages fall to the floor.

"Sorry, George," I say sincerely, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he says, sitting up and looking at the piece of bacon on his lap. He grabs it, shrugs, and takes a bite out of it.

I stare at my fallen sausage. Fred grabs it, blows on it, and places it back on my plate.

"Really?" I lift an eyebrow in feign annoyance. He grabs the piece of breakfast meat and switches it for one of his own, making everybody laugh.

"Aha! The man of the moment! Ludo!" says Mr. Weasley as Ludo Bagman walks up, standing out like a sore thumb in his Wasp uniform.

Mr. Weasley introduces me as Lizzie without mentioning my last name, to which I'm grateful. Fred and George bet their entire savings and a fake wand on an impossible result, which makes me think that they must really be stupid, except that they look so sure of it that I can't help thinking they're actually smart enough to know something that none of us can.

"Oh—talk of the devil! Barty!" Bagman says from his seat on the grass next to George as a stiff man in a suit Apparates at our fireside.

I lower my head immediately and get up before Mr. Crouch can turn toward us, pretending that I need something from the tent. I take a deep sigh and run a hand through my hair as soon as I'm inside our sitting area.

"What was that about?"

I jump and turn around, "Oh, Fred. You scared me."

"Care to explain?" he smirks, "You jumped off that log like it had caught fire."

"Barty Crouch."

"I'm going to need more explanation than that," Fred says lamely.

"He used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." I say in almost a whisper, "He's the one who sent my father to Azkaban without a trial. I know Percy admires him, and he's a powerful wizard who ought to be admired for his talents, but he's power hungry, and he's hungry for vengeance. He's made it impossible for Mum to be moved to a permanent job in London. He's made sure that she always has to keep travelling, and I'm pretty sure he's been keeping tabs on her far before the Aurors. He's obsessed with killing Death Eaters. He sent his own son to jail without so much as a blink. And if he saw me here, sitting with Harry Potter, sharing my food with him, what do you think that Crouch would imagine in that twisted head of his?"

"He'd think you were getting close to Harry to kill him," says Fred slowly.

"Exactly," I nod, "Mr. Crouch might seem like some stiff old man that's all about following rules and keeping a clean image, but he's dangerous. He'd do anything to destroy my dad, or my mum, or me."

"So Crouch. Power hungry. Bad. Got it." he nods, "Now relax. He didn't see you, and even if he did, I doubt he would have recognized you from just a glimpse."

"I left Uncle Remus out there!" I gasp.

Fred takes hold of my shoulders, "He's a smart man. He'll know what to say if Crouch asks. This is a really cool tent, by the way."

"Thanks," I say, "For both calming me down and the tent comment."

"No problem," he smiles warmly in a way that resembles his mother, "How are you, really?"

"I would say I feel better but…"

"But?" Fred flops onto the sofa and pats the space next to him.

"But I seem to have even more to worry about now. I've been sleeping a bit better, although every now and then I'll have some strange dream. I guess that's normal. But all I can think about is the chances of my father getting caught, and my mother's damn depression, and the fact that Uncle Remus has nobody to take care of him after the full moon, and that I can't even let out these feelings when I'm alone because technically I'm _never_ alone. I'm always being watched and I can't do anything or say anything that will give me away because it would mean going through all sorts of interrogations and house raids and who knows what else. And I'm terrified that Mum or I might say something in our sleep that will get us into trouble. And I'm so _angry_ because the only shred of proof we have is impossible to find and…and…"

The tears that had been threatening to fall during my rant begin to trickle down my cheeks, and I find myself crying onto Fred's shoulder rather loudly. His hand pushes my face further into his shoulder to stifle my sobs. If a Ministry official were to pass by, it would be a bad idea for them to hear sobs coming from the tent marked "BLACK." Either way, I suppose loud and snotty crying is better than another of those horrible panic attacks I suffered through last term.

"I'm sorry," I sniff after a few minutes, lifting my face enough to speak, but not removing myself from Fred's arms.

"It's alright." He shrugs, stroking my hair, "You needed to do that, and I never really liked this shirt, anyway."

"I gave you that shirt," I mutter against his arm.

"Er…I was lying?" he says in more of a question than a statement, "This is actually my favorite shirt but I said that so you wouldn't feel bad about getting your strange black colored tears on them."

I let out a watery laugh, "That's mascara from my eyelashes."

"I knew that, but it made you laugh, didn't it?" he asks, and I lift my head to laugh again. This time I lift it enough to see his eyes. I've always liked the blue of his eyes more than mine. They're so striking and bright, and always full of wonder and amusement.

His eyes draw me in first, catching me and getting my focus. His breath draws me in next, warm and inviting as he hovers slowly closer, and I find myself doing the same, until I'm so close that I can feel every breath and smell the tea we've just been drinking. His lips draw me in third, slightly parted and shaky as mine, until it would take just a tiny shift, the slightest of movements to touch them against mine…

"Lizzie?"

My uncle's voice just outside the tent makes us both jump apart so fast that we end up on different ends of the couch.

"Yeah?"

"You can come out now," Uncle Remus peeks his head into the tent, "He's gone."

"He didn't see me, did he?" I ask, getting up from the couch as Fred does the same.

"No."

"And what did you use as a cover story?" I ask.

"I told him I won a pair of tickets in a poker game and sold the other one to pay for my rent. I figured he would believe 'unemployed gambler werewolf' over 'bachelor with enough money to buy a World Cup ticket werewolf'."

As the afternoon wears on, the excitement in the air starts to grow. Our friends Katie and Lee are also meant to come watch the match, but they'll be somewhere in Campsite Number 3, since they've both been here for a few days.

"It appears the Ministry has given up trying to hide magic," says Uncle Remus at dusk.

"Come on, Uncle Remus, I want to buy a shirt before the match starts," I grab him by the arm and drag him toward the nearest vendor.

I end up buying an Ireland shirt, hat, scarf, and rosette for myself, a pair of Omnioculars and a rosette for Uncle Remus, and hats and scarves for Fred and George, since they won't be able to buy any souvenirs for themselves. We return to the tents alongside Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Here," I place the scarves and hats on the twins, "Accept them or I will be deeply offended."

"Yes, ma'am," Fred salutes me, wrapping the scarf around himself.

Suddenly, the sound of a gong booms through the air somewhere, and hundreds of green and red lanterns come alive inside the woods, leading the way to the field.

"It's time!" says Mr. Weasley, "Come on, let's go!"

I take my uncle's arm so as not to lose him amongst the crowd, and we're some of the first people to step into the trail.

We walk for twenty minutes before we're greeted with the great gold walls of the stadium.

The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione are headed to the Top Box. I managed to score us the second best seats in the house.

"Excellent seats, Miss," says the Ministry witch at the entrance, "Straight upstairs, last door on the left."

We keep walking behind the others until we're almost at the top.

"This is us," I say at the last door, "We'll see you all later."

"See you."

"Bye."

"See you later, Lizzie."

"Bye, Lizzie."

Uncle Remus and I take our seats. I pull out my Omnioculars from home, but don't bring them to my eyes just yet. The Top Box is just to my right, the bottom of the seats level with the top of my head. I can see one of the twins taking a seat in one of the chairs closest to mine.

Fred turns in his seat toward us, looking for me. He finds me soon enough and waves, a bright smile adorning his face as he gives me a thumbs up. I return his wave and smile, but I can't help but wondering if he's been thinking about that moment in my tent as much as I have.

**Okay so I know you Lizzie/Fred shippers are going to want to strangle me because this is the second time they get interrupted but...I suppose it just wasn't the right moment. **

**Also, that comment about freaky black tears came from something my 13 year old brother said the other day. I was watching Taylor Swift's Blank Space video and he literally freaked over her "freaky black tears." He thought she was possessed...lol.**


	3. Something is Coming

**Not much to say here. You all know what comes after this. I skipped the actual match because other than a few angry yells and high fives between Remus and Lizzie, there wouldn't be much of a difference between that scene here and that scene in the books.**

_**Disclaimer: I own no Harry Potter related characters or plots.**_

"How the hell did you manage to guess at that?" I ask as soon as the Weasleys step out of the Top Box and onto the purple carpeted stairs.

"Weeks of studying, my dear," says Fred as the two of them drape their arms over my shoulder. Uncle Remus falls into step with Mr. Weasley.

"You study that, but you refuse to study Potions," I roll my eyes.

"We knew enough about Potions to pass that test," George whispers.

"But we failed on purpose," Fred adds in the same whisper.

"Couldn't stand Snape for another two years," George finishes.

I sigh and shake my head, "You boys are really something."

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley begs them.

"Don't worry, Dad. We've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated." Fred winks at me. Mr. Weasley looks like he might ask what the plans are, and then decides against it.

By the time we reach the camp, I feel like I can't take a single step further. I'm exhausted, and I can tell Uncle Remus is as well, but there's no chance of sleeping with all the noise that's going on.

"Would you like to join us for a cup of cocoa, Remus?"

"I'd love to Arthur, but I think it's time this old man headed to bed," my uncle answers, "Lizzie is welcome to stay."

"I think I should tuck in, too," I say, then lower my voice so only Mr. Weasley can hear, "It's only the third night of the new cycle and he's had a long day."

"I heard that!" Uncle Remus calls from the entrance to our tent. I laugh and say goodnight to the others before following.

"You could have stayed to celebrate," my Uncle says once we're inside. His shoulders are hunched, his feet drag, and he's got a limp in his right leg.

"What happened to your foot?" I ask suspiciously.

"Nothing. It got caught in a root earlier," he says, not turning to look at me as he heads toward his room. I follow him.

"You're a bad liar, Uncle Remus," I grab his wrist and help him onto the bed, removing his shoe and pulling the leg of his trousers up. The entire ankle is bruised and swollen, "When did this happen?"

"On the third night," he admits, "It's not as bad as it was. I managed to fix it up."

"You shouldn't be using Healing spells when you're that weak, you know that." I scold, "Lie back so I can take care of this. You should have said something the second we got here."

I heal Uncle Remus's bruised ankle with two quick Healing Spells that I've used countless times over the past few years and head off to my room to tuck into bed. There's still an insane amount of noise outside, but I'm so exhausted that I fling myself into bed fully dressed and begin to slowly drift off…

_ "Something's coming."_

_ "What?"_

_ "It's coming…"_

_ "Wait!"_

"Lizzie! Lizzie wake up!"

"Wha—"

"Something's wrong!" my uncle tosses my jacket at me, "Put that on. We've got to warn the Weasleys."

The urgency in his voice makes me fling the covers off and pull on my shoes and jacket as fast as I can.

"Grab your wand," he says, already outside of my room. I grab my wand off the bedside table and walk outside with him. He's looking toward the entrance of the camp at something too far to see. Around us, people are still celebrating. My Uncle's eyes and ears are stronger than theirs, and whatever he's seeing slowly starts to dawn as the fires seem to get larger, and a few distant screams change from celebration to terror.

"I'll go wake the girls," I say hurriedly, running toward Ginny and Hermione's tent as he runs to the boys' tent.

Ginny and Hermione are fast asleep in their bunks, a gas lamp casting shadows on the canvas.

"Ginny! Ginny wake up!" I shake them both, "Hermione get up! Quick!"

"Was gon' on?" Ginny asks, blinking slowly.

"There's an attack. Something's wrong. You have to get up. Hermione, _come on_." I fling the covers off Hermione and she sits up quickly.

"Attack?"

"Yes, an attack! Grab jackets and your wands! Let's go!"

They move quickly, and I grab both their hands to drag them outside. The chaos that a few moments ago seemed to be far away has reached our part of the camp. People are screaming and running towards the woods in their nightgowns, and flashes of light burst through the darkness to illuminate the scene. A group of masked wizards in black robes are walking tightly together with their wands straight up.

"Death Eaters," I whisper as we come to stand next to the boys. I look up to see what their wands are pointing at and my stomach lurches. Four people, two of them children, are being held in the air, their bodies bending in strange ways.

Charlie rams into me as he comes out of the tent fully dressed with Percy and Bill, rolling up their sleeves and holding up their wands.

"We're going to help the Ministry," says Mr. Weasley.

"So will I," says Uncle Remus, "All of you get to the woods, stick together! Rose, keep your head down."

I nod quickly and pull on the hood of my jacket.

"Keep a close eye on Harry. He's in greater danger than anyone," Uncle Remus kisses my forehead and sprints off after Bill, drawing up the sleeves of his jumper.

"Fred, George, Ginny is your responsibility! Go!" Mr. Weasley yells over the screaming, which is getting louder and louder, before running off behind the others.

"Come on," Fred grabs Ginny's hand and starts toward the woods.

George grabs my hand and starts to follow. I turn back and manage to latch onto Harry's shirt. We turn back as we reach the trees. The crowd of Death Eaters has grown a lot larger, and the people that I recognize as Mr. Roberts and what must be his family are being held upside down. The little boy is crying. My breath catches in my throat. I knew some Death Eaters had managed to talk their way out of Azkaban, but I never thought there would be so many of them still loyal to the cause.

"Come on!" I yell as a few Ministry wizards arrive on the spot, "Before this gets messy!"

We break off at a jog, all holding onto each others hand, robes, or arms and trying to swerve around the dark trees. People bump into us, knocking us this way and that. A group of screaming witches bumps against my right arm and I lose my grip on Harry's shirt sleeve. I stretch out, trying to find him again.

"Harry!"

"Keep going!" his voice sounds farther and farther, and it sounds like he's struggling against something. Somebody must be pushing him, "We'll catch up! Keep going!"

"Come on," George pulls me along. I turn forward again, trying to see through the darkness. We come to a spot that's a bit less crowded, just slightly off the path, and stop.

"Light your wands," says Fred, pulling out his own. Our four wands make enough light to see a few feet around. There are plenty of people around, but none of them are who I'm looking for.

"They can't have gone far," says Ginny, "Can they?"

"No," I assure her, "No, Gin, they can't have gone far. I'm sure they must be safe."

"Harry's gotten out of tougher scrapes than this one, Rosie," Fred insures, "And Hermione's with them, she's always the one to keep a cool head, isn't she?"

"You're right," I nod, lowering my wand slightly. "They must be fine."

I blink twice, trying to wrap my head around Fred calling me Rosie. My parents and Uncle Remus are the only ones who ever use my middle name.

"What are those people?" asks Ginny, snapping me back to the present.

"Death Eaters, Ginny." I explain. _Hold yourself together, Elizabeth. There are more important things going one._

Her face goes pale and her eyes widen. Her voice is small when she talks, "But...b-but he's gone. H-he _is_ gone, isn't he?"

George drapes an arm over her shoulders and gives her a squeeze, clearly remembering Ginny's experience with Voldemort little over a year ago, "Of course he's gone, Gin."

I turn toward the camp, where every now and then a green glow peeks out from above the trees, "They all probably just had too much to drink and thought it would be fun to remember old times."

"Why don't you sound so convinced?" Fred asks in my ear, turning me away from his nervous looking little sister.

I sigh, "Because they might have other reasons."

"Such as?"

"I don't know!" I fling my arms, "I just think it's strange that a group of Death Eaters would attack some muggles in a place where just about every important wizard in the world is present. Why get up the courage to attack now?"

"You think this is part of some sort of plan?" asks Ginny, who was clearly listening intently despite Fred's attempts to shield her from it.

"I don't know," I shrug, "Maybe. I hope not, but it's likely. Death Eaters might be crazy, but they're also cowards, and they wouldn't dare do anything if they weren't completely certain they could get away with it."

I don't say anything else, but flashes of my latest dreams cross my mind. Is this what was coming? Or is this only the start? I try not to, but my mind quickly falls to Harry, and my stomach falls. Of course Harry Potter would be at the Quidditch World Cup. Are they after him? Dread takes over once again as I remember the last thing my uncle said. I never should have left Harry alone. I should have gone to look for him. Oh Merlin, what if they go after him?

I can hear a few people talking in low voices on the path, but everything seems relatively calm as I scan the trees one more time.

And then suddenly panic breaks free again. All four of us turn toward the source of the screaming. From a clearing to the left, a great green light rises out of the trees, revealing its shape slowly.

I don't think. I just run. I feel somebody try to grab at my arm, but I run faster, toward the shape of the great green skull in the sky.

"Harry!" I yell just as flashes of red come from the clearing.

I speed up, pulling out my wand. When I reach the clearing, about twenty people are standing around Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Harry!" I reach him and grab his shoulders, "Are you alright? What happened?"

"I'm fine, Lizzie…I don't know…"

"Elizabeth Rose Black," says a cold, curt voice. The hood of my jacket came off when I was running, in the hours that have passed my makeup has come off to reveal my pale complexion, and the ponytail I pulled up for bed reveals every inch of my face.

"Mr. Crouch." I say in as light a tone as I can muster. I look Barty Crouch straight in the eye, daring him to say anything against me.

"You have been discovered at the scene of the crime," he snaps, "What have you to say for yourself?"

"Actually, Mr. Crouch, as your colleagues all witnessed, I got here _after_ you did," I say as calmly as I can while my hands make tight fists in my jacket pockets, "And _I _discovered _you_ attacking three innocent teenagers."

"They are suspects to a heinous crime!" he snaps again, "As are you! Amos!"

A bearded wizard in brown robes walks forward. I've seen him before at the Ministry with Mum, but I'm not sure what he does.

"Miss Black, I'm afraid that I will have to ask for your wand."

I grip my wand in my pocket and take a step back, "What for?!"

"Please," he says calmly, "I simply wish to perform a spell that will show us the last spell that this wand performed."

"Please, the mark came from over there," says Hermione, pointing, "There was someone behind the trees…they shouted words—an incantation."

The wizard named Amos holds out his hand as Mr. Crouch rounds on Hermione. Meanwhile, the rest are pointing their wands in the direction Hermione pointed. As they move, I spot my Uncle among them. He nods at me, looking at the wizard in front of me. I take out my wand and hand it to him handle first.

The ghost of a _Lumos_ charm appears, followed by the ghost of the Healing Spell I used on Uncle Remus earlier.

"You've been Healing," says Mr. Crouch, "You know, Miss Black, that it is against the law for unauthorized Healers to tend to a werewolf."

"I didn't perform Healing Spells on my uncle," I lie smoothly, "I twisted my foot on a tree root when we were walking back from the match. When I got to my tent I performed the spell to keep my ankle from swelling."

"And how did you know to use such a spell?" Crouch asks. His focus has clearly shifted from catching the culprit to catching me.

"It's my desire to become a Healer, and I've spent a lot of time as a volunteer in the Hogwarts infirmary helping Madame Pomphrey. You can check that fact with Professor Dumbledore if you don't believe me."

"With all due respect, Mr. Crouch," says Amos, "I think we ought to leave it and focus on catching whoever conjured the Dark Mark."

Crouch seems to remember himself. He clears his throat and nods stiffly, "Yes, of course."

"We're too late," says a witch in a woolen dressing gown, "They'll have Disapparated."

Amos seems sure that they may have Stunned him, and walks towards the trees alone. Hermione covers her mouth, and I walk over to stand next to them. I'm confused at Mr. Crouch's expression when Amos comes back carrying a house elf, until he goes off into the trees and Amos whispers to Mr. Weasley, "Bit embarrassing…Barty Crouch's house elf."

"Remus, why don't you walk Lizzie back to the camp?" says Mr. Weasley, "I think they've got everything sorted out here."

Uncle Remus and I walk silently back to the camp, keeping our hands gripped tight around our wands. When we get to the edge of the woods, a small crowd is gathered looking worriedly at the sky. I pull my hood back on, and we're ignored by most people as we walk back to our tent.

One corner of it has been seared by fire, but the rest of it seems to have survived. I peek through the burned hole and realize it's my room.

"You can sleep in my room," says Uncle Remus, "Let's stay out here for now, until Arthur gets back."

Fifteen minutes pass before Mr. Weasley, Harry, Ron, and Hermione step out of the woods and towards the tents. Uncle Remus and I follow them inside the boys' tent to hear what happened.

"Lizzie!" Fred and George stand up together and hug me.

"I'm fine," I mumble.

"Are you mad?!" Fred yells.

"Running toward the Dark Mark!"

"How could you do something so stupid?!"

"Whoa," I hold up both hands, "Talk about a role reversal."

"Don't ever do that again," Fred sighs and hugs me one more time.

"Did you get them, Dad?" asks Bill from the kitchen table. He's got a sheet pressed to his arm, which is bleeding generously. I walk toward him, extending a hand toward the sheet.

"I can treat that if you like."

He raises both eyebrows and looks toward my uncle, who nods in response. Bill takes the sheet off his arm and I walk to the kitchen to grab water from the kettle and kitchen shears to cut the blanket into a bandage. As I clean up the wound, Mr. Weasley explains what they found in the clearing after Uncle Remus and I left, after which Hermione and Percy have a brief argument about elf rights.

"Look, can someone just explain what the skull thing was?" Ron asks impatiently.

"I told you, Ron. It's You-Know-Who's symbol."

"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," Mr. Weasley adds quietly, "Of course people panicked. It was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."

"I don't get it," Ron insists, "I mean…it's still only a shape in the sky…"

"Ron, Vol- I mean, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air every time they killed," I explain, removing a piece of glass from Bill's arm and turning toward him, "How exactly did you get this?"

"They threw me into a tent and my arm landed on a glass vase," says Bill, flinching as I remove another piece of glass with my wand.

"You're too young to remember," Uncle Remus continues, "But the terror that seeing that mark inspired was incomparable. Imagine coming home and seeing the Dark Mark hovering over your roof, and knowing what you would find inside…"

"Well, it didn't help us tonight," says Bill as I manage to stopper the bleeding and begin to wrap his arm in pieces of a sheet, "It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now."

"You're all set," I say to Bill, fastening the end of the makeshift bandage, "You still ought to head to a real Healer in the morning so they can check on it. I'm not an expert just yet."

"Thanks," Bill smiles. He's cute, I realize…and he has Fred's eyes.

"Any time," I stand up, "Now if you'll all excuse me, I think I might fall flat on my face if I don't get some rest soon."

"Will you be coming with us in the morning, Lizzie?" Mr. Weasley asks.

"I think I should check in with Mum," I answer, "Goodnight, everyone."

Uncle Remus follows me to the tent. I go to my room with the pretext of leaving my jacket there. There's a scorched hole in the roof of my room, but everything else seems to be intact. My backpack is in the place where I left it. I open it and reach into the bottom for a familiar bottle. I take a short swig, smaller than the proper dose, and walk back into Uncle Remus' room. He's enlarged the bed so that three people could sleep comfortably in it, and I fling myself onto one side of it and fall asleep almost immediately with the help of my long unused potion.


	4. Home

**_Disclaimer: None of the Harry Potter characters and plotlines belong to me._**

Uncle Remus and I wake up just before dawn. We change quickly, skip breakfast, and pack up the tent with magic. The Weasleys have already left. The line for the Portkeys is at least two hours long.

"Forget it. Come on," Uncle Remus takes my hand and leads me toward the clearing where Bill, Charlie, and Percy stepped out yesterday.

"We're going to Apparate?" I ask.

"The Ministry has got enough to worry about. If we're lucky, they'll have Nymphadora Tonks waiting for us at the stream."

"And if we're not?" I ask.

"Then I will take sole responsibility for Side-Along Apparating you when I wasn't supposed to. Hold on to my arm."

I do as he says, and I'm met with the sudden sensation of being stretched through a tube. The air gets blown out of my lungs, and just when I'm certain that I must be turning blue, my feet hit the soft ground by the stream and I fall to my knees, the trees spinning in front of me.

"Nasty feeling, isn't it?" a familiar female voice says form somewhere behind me, "It's not so bad when you do it on your own."

Tonks leads us back to the cottage, which is surprisingly emitting smoke from the chimney.

"Lizzie!"

Mum is walking quickly towards us, her arms wide open, her face clean, and her hair done for the first time all summer.

"Thank goodness you're alright!" Mum hugs me, and I take in the familiar smell of cinnamon and fruit, "I've been so worried. It's on the front page of the newspaper. Of course, that horrid Rita Skeeter woman wrote the article, so it must be vastly exaggerated, but still…what happened?"

"A few dark wizards had too much to drink," says Uncle Remus, "That was all."

"But the Dark Mark," Mum breathes, sounding every bit the worried mother she used to be.

"No one was hurt," says Uncle Remus, patting his sister's shoulder, "We're fine."

"Oh, Lizzie," she sighs, smoothing my hair, "I'm so sorry, darling. I'm sorry I haven't been paying attention to you. I'm sorry I haven't been myself. No more. I promise no more."

My eyes tear up at her words, "It's alright. As long as you're back now, none of it matters."

She sighs again and hugs me, letting out a watery laugh.

"What are you doing at home?" I ask when she steps back.

"The others finished searching and they didn't find anything dangerous," says Tonks, "So you can have your house back."

I spend the entire morning with Mum and Uncle Remus. At noon, we head into town for lunch, with Tonks following us close by. She's disguised as a middle aged woman with chin length blonde hair and green eyes, but her wink as we sit down to eat lets me know it's her.

The last week of the summer passes by quickly. I don't spend it at the Burrow, but Mum's mood has changed considerably, and she seems to be trying to stuff everything she didn't do in the past three months into one week. We head into Diagon Alley on Thursday to buy my school things. Having left everything to the last minute, I have to buy two of my books second hand.

"It says you need dress robes, darling," says Mum.

"Dress robes?" I ask, "Why would I need dress robes?"

"You'll see," she smiles.

"What? It's not the same thing Percy was going on and on about, is it?" I ask, "Does the whole world know?"

"Only certain people in the Ministry know about it," she winks, "You won't need them until December, but let's look in Madame Malkin's to see if you like anything. If not, you can always buy them in Hogsmeade."

We step into Madame Malkins to find that, like everything else in my list, the majority of the dress robes have already been purchased, and only a few simple or downright ugly ones have been left. I decide I'll buy them in Hogsmeade.

The only bad part of the remaining summer days is the return of my nightmares. While I no longer awake screaming and crying, I still wake up in the middle of the night. They're not as bad as they used to be, but I'm plagued with images of my father and a great green Dark Mark, or of the silhouette of the same man, murmuring the same warning. _Something's coming. _

Mum takes me to King's Cross Station alone on September 1st. Uncle Remus meant to come along, but he got an interview at a muggle bookstore at ten-thirty, leaving Mum and myself to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and make the short walk to King's Cross Station. As we're about to cross the street, a young woman in a pencil skirt and matching blazer with a tight red-haired bun winks at me and crosses alongside us.

"I'm alone," she mutters out of the corner of her mouth, "But there's another Auror waiting on the Platform."

"Thanks," I breathe back, trying not to move my lips.

"Hogwarts and Hogsmeade are safe," she whispers back, turning in the opposite direction just as we reach the sidewalk.

When we're almost to the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, I stop Mum to whisper, "If he writes, I'll let you know."

"How?"

"Do you remember my friend Marina?" I ask.

"From when we lived in Mexico?" she asks, thinking back to when I was nine years old and we spent six months in Michoacán.

I nod, "That can be the codename. If I say I heard from Marina, I'll mean him."

We get onto platform nine and three-quarters and I immediately spot the Auror that Tonks warned about.

"He's not exactly trying to hide, is he?" I say to Mum, motioning toward the tall, heavy eyed man standing stiffly against the wall, his Auror badge standing out brightly against his robes.

"Do try to stay out of trouble this year, won't you?" Mum implores.

"Do I ever?" I ask.

She laughs and looks around, "Look, there's Fred and George. Stick to them and Katie, and have fun. This is going to be a very interesting year for all of you."

"Why?" I ask for the millionth time.

"You'll see," she smiles knowingly and kisses my cheek.

"I love you," I say, hugging her, "Send Uncle Remus my love, and let me know if he gets the job."

"I will," she nods, "I love you, too, my flower. Be good. Oh, and Lizzie?"

"Yes?"

Her eyes flicker momentarily to the Auror by the wall and she whispers, "Take care of…your brother."

I smile and nod, knowing she means Harry, "I will, Mum."

I walk off towards the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley greets me with a hug.

"Boys, stick close to Lizzie, try to follow her example," she says to the twins, "Lizzie, you'll keep an eye on them, won't you?"

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley," I laugh, "I won't let them out of my sight."

The whistle blows and we clamor together onto the train.

"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," says Hermione from the window.

"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," says Harry.

Just as I'm about to lean out the window and apologize for not having gone to stay, something pokes me in the ribs.

"Ow! Hey!" I turn around, "Katie!"

I hug her enthusiastically, having missed her all summer. Katie and I have been friends since first year, and we've never spent a train ride apart.

"How are you?" she asks as the train starts moving, "I heard the attack was in your part of the camp."

"Yeah," I sigh, "It's a long story, but we're all okay. What about you?"

"They didn't get to our field," she says, "But we were scared enough."

"Ladies, shall we go and find a compartment?" Fred and George say as Harry, Ron, and Hermione walk off.

"You three can, but I've got somewhere else to be," Katie says, pointing to a pin on her chest.

"You got Prefect! Brilliant!" says George, "Now we can get away with all sorts of things!"

"Don't even think about it. I'll give you detention for the rest of your life!" says Katie.

We walk towards the front of the train and find an empty compartment within a few minutes. Katie goes off, promising to join us soon, and the three of us enter the compartment.

"What do you think is happening at Hogwarts?" asks Fred.

"No idea," I shrug, looking out the window at the pouring rain. Cleo won't be able to make a journey in this weather, so writing to Dad will have to wait.

Angelina Johnson joins us a few minutes into the train ride, and Lee Jordan walks in a minute after her. Katie comes in at around noon, just before the lunch trolley shows up. The rain gets heavier and heavier as we travel further north, until I can't see anything past my reflection in the window. The conversation drifts from the World Cup, to the secret event going on at Hogwarts, to Fred and George's plans for the first prank of the year.

"I'm going to pretend I haven't heard any of this," says Katie. She loves the boys' pranks, and being a prefect is giving her some seriously conflicted feelings.

The rain doesn't let up as we get closer and closer to Hogwarts. Katie and I go to the bathroom to change into our school robes and return ten minutes later to find that the boys have also changed. Fifteen minutes later the train comes to a halt outside of Hogsmeade Station. I pull out a cage cover that Uncle Remus bought for me ages ago and pull it over Cleopatra's cage, making her squawk in disagreement.

"After you," says Fred, holding the door open for Katie and me to step off.

The rain is coming down so hard that we're soaked to the bone before we're halfway to the carriages. Angelina, George, and Lee step into one of the last carriages behind a blond third year from Ravenclaw who I've seen carrying copies of _The Quibbler_. Fred, Katie and I launch ourselves into the very last one, grateful to be out of the rain.

We're amongst the last of the students to skid into the wet Entrance Hall. Professor McGonagall is shouting angrily at Peeves, who is holding about ten water balloons in his arms.

"I shall call the Headmaster!" she shouts, "I'm warning you, Peeves!"

Peeves sticks out his tongue and tosses his water balloons into the air, which hit the floor and splash a group of second years.

"Come on," says Katie, pulling on my arm, "I need to sit down so I can drain my shoes."

The Sorting seems to take longer than usual, but it may just be the fact that we are all soaking, cold, and hungry. When the last of the first years are sorted and the food finally appears, I ladle some hot onion soup into a bowl, basking in the steam it releases and almost sighing when the warmth passes down my throat.

"You think they'll tell us what Percy's been bragging about all summer?" George asks through a bite of steamed potatoes.

"They better," says Fred, swallowing a mouthful of kidney pie, "Otherwise the git might start writing to us about it."

Once we've all had our fill to eat, and the warmth form the many candles and torches has mostly dried our hair and clothes, Dumbledore stands up for his yearly speech. When he announces that Quidditch won't be taking place this year, George grips the table so hard that I'm afraid he may break it, and Fred makes a strange rasping sound at the back of his throat. Their mouths start to move, but their ability to speak seems to have been shocked out of them. Before Dumbledore can finally reveal the big mystery that everybody has been raving about, something interrupts him.

The entrance of our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor creates a second shocked silence over the Great Hall. When only Dumbledore and Hagrid applaud him, Fred finally manages to string together a sentence.

"Dad had to go help him this morning. He sounded—"

"—completely barmy," George finishes.

"Moody was the greatest Auror in history," I explain, "Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. Uncle Remus says he was the greatest asset they had during the war. But he made himself a lot of enemies, and it's made him paranoid."

"That's what Bill said," says George as Moody takes a seat at the staff table.

All tension disappears when Dumbledore announces the Triwizard Tournament, to which Fred answers loudly, "YOU'RE JOKING!"

The rest of the Hall laughs, while I try to recover the abilities in my now ringing left ear.

When Dumbledore sends us all off to bed, it takes a good three minutes to get the twins out of their seats.

"Come on," says Hermione, who seems to be struggling similarly with Ron, "We'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

The rest of the walk up to Gryffindor Tower consists of Ron, Fred, and George coming up with ways to trick the impartial judge. I roll my eyes at Hermione, who does the same, but I don't bother telling them that an Aging Potion won't work. They won't listen to me, anyway, and they'll still try it and end up failing.

Once we're in the tower, my eyes start to droop and sting with sleep almost immediately. The crackling fire acts almost as well as a Sleeping Draught. As I change into my pajamas, the letter that I'll be writing to Mum and Moony tomorrow starts to form in my head, but better yet is the realization that being in Hogwarts means no surveillance. Dad can write to me now, and I can write to him. As soon as he writes back to Harry, I'll send a letter along as well. Or maybe he'll write to me first. With that last comforting thought, my eyes flutter closed and I enter a sleep so deep and calm as I haven't had in months. A sleep where there are no werewolf transformations, no lost fathers, no raving Death Eaters, and no vague warnings. Tonight, I have nothing to worry about. Tonight, I'm home.


	5. Matters of Life, Death, and Potions

**Time for the first day of school! Thank you to everybody who has reviewed :)**

**_Disclaimer: I own no Harry Potter related things...other than a few DVDs and a copy of the books, whose rights are owned by the beautiful Queen JKR._**

I'm awoken in the morning by Katie tickling my foot and laughing that it's time for breakfast. With my sleeping pattern seemingly restored and a quick warm shower, I enter the Great Hall with high hopes.

"What have you got?" asks Angelina when we're handed our schedules. Lee and the twins are busy figuring out how to age themselves and enter the Triwizard Tournament.

"History of Magic first," Katie groans.

"Well, we can always catch up on our sleep," I joke, "We have Herbology after that, then lunch, followed by Potions, and then I have Muggle Studies."

Katie makes a face that says she'd rather eat her schedule than follow it, and I silently agree. While Potions is my favorite and best subject, the professor and I are about as friendly as oil and water. Snape's always held my father's bullying in their Hogwarts days against me, but after Dad's escape cost Snape the Order of Merlin last year, I just know that he will be nastier than ever.

There's a familiar whooshing sound as a hundred owls swoop into the hall. Even after almost all the owls have landed, I look up in hopes of seeing Cleo or any other owl, but no such luck. I turn to look down the table at Harry, who shakes his head with a defeated look and shrugs.

I finish breakfast in silence, worrying, as I'm sure Harry might be, at how long it's taken my dad to answer his letter. I know he could be as far as Australia or America, but I can't help the nerves that are eating away at my insides.

I spend History of Magic chewing at my bottom lip and fiddling with the pin attached to my robes, my finger tracing the shape of the dog in the center of the other Marauders, and thinking too many horrible things; from my father's arrest by Aurors, to a thousand dementors sweeping down and destroying his soul one by one. In Herbology, I manage to focus on our first lesson. Herbology is a required N.E.W.T. class for anybody who aspires to be a Healer, and I'll have to score at least an Exceeds Expectations in my O.W.L. to get there.

At lunch, Katie and I take our seats on either side of Lee, while the twins hastily put away a piece of parchment they've been working on.

"What are you two up to?" Katie narrows her eyes.

"You'll find out eventually," says George.

"You always do," adds Fred, before turning to look at me and my plate, "You're not joining Hermione in her hunger strike, are you?"

I roll my eyes and pile more lettuce and baby carrots onto my plate, "I'm just not a fan of lamb. The village near our house used to skin them for trade."

It's true that I don't particularly like lamb, but that's not the reason I'm not eating much. My stomach is still churning in nerves, and I don't want to test it. Before the others can answer, a small first year who I believe is named Dennis walks up nervously and looks at us.

"I—I have a message," the kid stutters, a piece of parchment shaking madly in his trembling hands, "F—for Elizabeth B—Black."

"That's me," I smile brightly, trying to look reassuring, "Although I'm sure you noticed my resemblance to the wanted posters and figured that out yourself."

Instead of lightening up at my joke, the kid gives a frightened smile and drops the parchment next to George before running off.

"Too soon for convict jokes?" I ask, picking up the parchment.

"Maybe just a bit," Katie nods, a laugh playing on her lips.

I open the folded up parchment to reveal a small, neat scroll.

_Miss Black,_

_ I, Hogwarts Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape inform you through this message that your presence in the Potions Dungeon shall be required half an hour before the time of your usual lessons, to discuss an urgent matter. Come alone, and be sure of punctuality._

"What sort of urgent matter do _you_ have to talk about with Snape?" asks Fred, who has been reading upside down.

"How should I know?" I look at my watch and swear, "I have ten minutes!" I scarf down as much of my salad as I can, then stand up while downing my pumpkin juice.

"Save me a seat!" Katie calls out as I sprint out of the Great Hall.

I enter the Potions classroom at exactly half past. The bat-like Potions Master is already waiting, standing beside his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. I take a deep breath to regain my composure.

"You requested my presence, Professor?"

"I am well aware of what I requested, Miss—Black," he says my last name with an ill-concealed sneer, "We will be meeting in my office."

He walks behind his desk toward an open door, through which I follow. I've never been in Snape's office, but it's fairly similar to his classroom; dark, damp, and full of strange objects floating in liquid and goo-filled jars.

"I didn't know dragons had femurs," I mutter to myself, observing a row of jars that consists mostly of bones held still in gel-like substances.

"Miss Black, I shall say this once," snaps Snape, slamming both hands flat on his desk so hard that I have to resist jump backward. He looks down his large nose at me, "You may be under the impression that this audience is like the majority of my classes, in which you have behaved foolishly and childishly in your attempts to be accepted by your classmates as something more than the abandoned child of an escaped convict," I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, but before I can speak, he raises his voice and says, "But the seriousness of this conversation will require you to dig deep into that immature mind of yours and act your age, if not older, as it is about something much bigger than grades, or school. We will be discussing matters of life and death, of war, and of the fate of the entire wizarding world. You _will_ be considerate of the gravity of the situation and _stop_ behaving like an overly hyperactive child for the next half hour. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?"

My jaw has locked and my eyes have widened halfway through Snape's speech, as I've never heard him say much more than ten words at any given moment. I nod quickly, unable to string words with my mouth and resisting the urge to salute.

"Have a seat," he motions to the black leather chairs in front of his desk, and I settle into the one on the right, "Miss Black—"

"Wait," I say, holding up a hand.

"What?" he asks dryly.

"If you're going to make that face like something died in your nose _every time_ you say my last name, then I will have to ask you to use my first. Contrary to what you might believe, _Professor_, even an escaped convict's daughter has the right to some respect," I state, holding my Black family nose so high that even Walburga would have been proud of me, then add as an afterthought, "Even if her father _was_ a horrid bully."

Snape's mouth opens and then closes again. I'm sure that nobody has ever stood up to Snape in such a way, or corrected his manners, especially in private where there are no witnesses. I wonder if he'll react by taking points, giving a harsh comeback, or kicking me out of his office. He manages to surprise me, however.

"Very well...Elizabeth." he drawls, managing to hold the sneer as he takes a seat at his desk chair, "Madame Pomphrey informs me that you wish to be a Healer."

"Er, yes," I say, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"You are aware that a Healer must have an extensive knowledge of Potions?"

"I am. But Professor, what does—"

"Questions at the end," he states firmly, "You are aware, Elizabeth, that you are amongst my best potion students at this school, and the headmaster believes that the time has come for me, as the only remaining Potions Master in Britain, to choose an apprentice. After a long deliberation, we have decided that you are the most appropriate candidate. There was a question of your maturity, but the Headmaster has assured me that it is in no way lacking," the look on his face says that he doesn't believe a single thing Dumbledore has to say about my maturity, "You will begin lessons tomorrow evening."

Ha! Bottle that, Cho Chang! I can't wait to see the look on her stupid face when she hears Snape chose me over her.

"You must tell no one about your apprenticeship." Damn.

"But, sir, someone is bound to notice me disappearing into the dungeons every evening," I say.

"You will have to invent a cover story. Perhaps say that you are taking remedial potions lessons."

I raise an eyebrow, "Nobody is going to believe that _I _need remedial lessons. If anyone asks, I'll say you're teaching me to brew Wolfsbane Potion for my uncle."

He seems to consider the story for a moment, before nodding curtly, "That will suffice…for now. Tomorrow evening you will be given twenty minutes for dinner, after which I expect you in Dungeon Ten, prepared to begin immediately. You may go."

I step out of the office and back into the classroom, taking a seat at the very front. Katie will hate me for it, but if I'm to be an apprentice, then from now on Potions class will have to become a top priority.

Snape sets us the task of the Draught of Peace, which has got a very specific set of instructions. I walk quickly over to the store cupboard just as the other students are walking into the classroom, picking out the best of each ingredient, much to Cho Chang's obvious displeasure. I take a seat before anybody else has finished picking out their ingredients, pulling my cauldron closer and tying back my long black curls. The fringe that Ginny cut across my forehead is starting to grow into my eyes. I'll have to ask her to cut it again.

Professor Snape walks past my work table, dropping a small 3x5 inch card atop my ingredients. I pick it up quickly and hide it under the table, making sure that none of my classmates, who are slowly returning to their own tables, have seen. The card has the same neat handwriting as the message from earlier, and is numbered like the steps on the blackboard. Only that the steps seem to be revised, with thing like "stir four times rather than three and simmer for six minutes" and "add hellebore after two clockwise stirs".

I smirk and hide the card beneath my unopened Potions book, peaking at it occasionally to make sure I'm following the new steps correctly. I finish fifteen minutes early, the silver vapor becoming lighter and thinner until it looks like floating glitter. I turn to Cho Chang's table and find her huffing in frustration over her cauldron, which is emitting the same grey vapor that mine did more than twenty minutes ago. Her usually smooth black hair has frizzed out at the ends, her eyeliner has smeared, and her robes look completely disheveled. I turn to look at Katie's potion to hide another smirk, and whisper instructions to help her turn the dark grey steam of her cauldron into misty silver.

I silently bottle my potion at the end of class and place the card inside my book to write the notes in later. Katie leaves, promising to save me a seat at dinner, and I walk to Muggle Studies behind Chang and Marietta Edgecombe. My glee only grows as I watch their many failed attempts to smooth out Cho's hair.

When I step out of muggle studies an hour later, my head still dizzy with terms like analog and satellite, I come face to face with a familiar ear to ear grin. Fred holds out an arm and takes my book bag.

"Free hour?" I ask.

"Indeed," he answers, "I'm telling you, Lizzie, there is no use in worrying about O.W.L.s. The less you pass, the more free time you'll have later."

"And the less opportunity I'll have of becoming a Healer," I point out, "Where's George?"

Fred gives me a frustrated look, "You know, the two of us are—"

"Not attached at the hip," I finish, "I know. I was just wondering." Wondering and worrying, actually, since the last few times that I was alone with Fred Weasley, I came rather close to kissing him. But Fred is my best friend next to Katie, and kissing is just not something that best friends do.

"He's somewhere around here," says Fred, "Trying to flirt with Angelina. He sent Lee off to distract Katie, while y_ou_ have been stuck with yours truly."

"I don't mind," I shrug honestly.

We reach the Entrance Hall in a comfortable silence, but stop on the last couple of steps because it's so crowded. The students are all looking toward the center of the hall, where Draco Malfoy is holding up a newspaper and speaking to Harry and Ron loudly enough that his words echo throughout the hall.

"And there's a picture, Weasley! A picture of your parents outside their house—if you can call it a house!"

My fists clench at the same time as Fred's as Malfoy continues in that annoying little voice of his.

"Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"

I lash out an arm to stop Fred just as he takes a step forward.

"Not worth it," I say, stepping down so that I'm in front of him and placing my palms against his shoulders. Fred's jaw is clenched tightly, and I can feel magic energy building up and crackling through him like an untrained magical child, "Just breathe and let the idiot talk."

Fred takes a quick, raspy breath, but before I can say anything else, two loud BANGS echo through the Entrance Hall. I spin around and draw my wand, ready to curse the pants off Malfoy if he did anything to Harry. But Malfoy is gone, and Mad-Eye Moody is standing behind Harry, his wand pointing down at the spot where Malfoy had been. I follow it with my eyes, only to find a pure white ferret shaking madly on the floor.

The entire Entrance Hall has gone still and silent. My wand hovers half raised in my hand as Moody checks on Harry, then starts to walk toward Malfoy's bodyguards and the ferret, which squeaks and begins to run toward the dungeons.

"I don't think so!"

After Malfoy the Ferret has given a good show, Professor McGonagall comes to his rescue and turns him back into his normal irritating self. Fred, who had been doubled over laughing, manages to catch his breath as Lee and Katie appear and ask what happened.

Dinner is quite the event. Fred, George, Lee, and Angelina all had class with Professor Moody this afternoon, and it's all they can talk about.

After dinner, we head to the common room where Fred and George pull out plans for the first prank of the year. Katie covers her eyes and announces that she's heading to bed, because she doesn't want to deal with the pressure of knowing what's going to happen. Lee gets a letter from his older sister and heads upstairs to answer it, and Angelina declares that she's far too sleepy because she and her dorm mates stayed up late showing off their dress robes last night. That leaves me alone with the twins as they plot.

"Who's the target this time?" I ask, stretching out on the couch and flinging an arm over my eyes.

"Malfoy," says Fred, with new found vindictiveness.

"Watching him bounce up and down as a ferret wasn't enough for you?" I ask, leaning forward to look at the blue prints.

"No," George shakes his head, "We've taken his insults very personally."

They spend the next ten minutes explaining how the prank is going to work, and I correct some of their logistics. Once the preparations seem ready, George takes the plans upstairs to explain to Lee how he'll be participating. Fred lifts my feet to sit on the couch in front of the fire, looking around the room to make sure nobody is watching or listening.

"Have you gotten any news from him?" he asks in a low voice.

"No," I shake my head and sit up, "Harry wrote to him ages ago, the day before he got to the Burrow, and he hasn't got an answer yet. I'm starting to get worried."

"Lizzie, if the Ministry had caught him it would be all over the _Daily Prophet_," says Fred, "They'd want everyone to know that they aren't complete screw ups like that Skeeter woman is making them look out to be. And they would give you and your mum the news immediately."

"I know," I say, "But the Ministry forces aren't the only ones after him. What if those Death Eaters weren't just drunk that night? What if they had reason to celebrate other than the World Cup?"

"You're not saying you think You-Know-Who is alive?" he asks incredulously.

"Of course he's alive, Fred!" I say in exasperation, trying to keep my voice low, "Don't you remember what happened with Quirrell? They found his body, but not Voldemort's."

"Lizzie!" Fred whispers.

"Sorry." I say, "Look, these are just ideas that have been floating about in my head. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Maybe they're nothing, but I can't help but feeling like they really _are_ something. He's been out there all these years, too weak to attack, but maybe he's found another host, or maybe he's regaining his strength. Maybe the Death Eaters at the Cup knew that."

I can tell that he doesn't believe any of what I'm saying, but he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he puts a hand on my arm and says, "Lizzie, I know you're worried, but trust him. I asked Dad about him last year, after he escaped. He said that my uncles always spoke highly of your dad, and that they considered him one of the most talented wizards they knew. Your dad can handle himself."

Fred's words are not entirely comforting, but I nod anyway.


	6. Fee, Fi, Foe, Fum

**Thank you for the positive reviews on this story! I wasn't sure about continuing on with the rest of the books but I've had a pretty decent amount of followers and favorites :) You all are my motivation.**

_**Disclaimer- All Harry Potter related works are property of JK Rowling and Warner Bros.**_

I awake before dawn on Tuesday. My worries haven't stopped, and my dreams were plagued with images of dementors and masked men alike. Twice I awoke in a cold sweat. At least there was no screaming this time around. My roommates already think I'm a total nutcase, except for maybe Katie.

I'm the first Gryffindor to get to breakfast, my feet dragging against the marbled floors and my back hunched beneath the weight of my book bag. Two cups of coffee later I'm feeling a bit more up to paying attention, but after an hour of Care of Magical Creatures out in the gloomy weather, the caffeine has been drained out of my system. I almost fall asleep in Charms, except that Katie keeps poking me with her quill every time my head droops.

At lunch I sneak down to the kitchens for another two cups of coffee before heading to the Great Hall to join my friends. The effects last until the last of my classes, but I'm so jittery during Transfiguration that the cushion I'm supposed to be turning into a platypus ends up with two tails.

"I hate Transfiguration," I mumble to Katie when we're walking down to dinner, "Honestly, when am I ever going to need to turn a cushion into one of those weird duck-beaver things?"

"But you might have to transfigure a piece of parchment into bandages someday."

Fred and George have appeared on either side of us.

"Do you two spend your free hours lurking around corners hoping one of us will pass by?" Katie asks in mock annoyance.

"Actually we've memorized your schedules and enjoy stalking you," George says as if this were perfectly normal.

"We've even got samples of hair from both of you," Fred adds.

"I'm actually inclined to believe that," I say seriously, "Now hurry up. I've only got ten minutes for dinner."

"Detention already, dear Lizzie?" asks Fred.

"She beat our record!" George says, aghast, "We ought to prepare some sort of trophy."

"And a feast," Fred nods.

"It's not detention," I roll my eyes and add in a low voice, "I have to meet with Snape."

"Snape?!" Three voices echo down the hall, making quite a few students turn toward us.

"Shh!" I flap my hands to shush them and whisper, "He's teaching me how to make Wolfsbane, alright?"

"He'll probably teach you to make poison!" Katie whispers urgently.

"He will _not_. Dumbledore has ordered him to teach me so I can make it for Uncle Remus," I lie, "If he didn't poison Moony last year, I'm sure he wouldn't do it now. Besides, I think I'm good enough at potions to know whether or not I'm making a poison."

We don't say anything else on the subject on our way to dinner, but I'm unusually quiet as we walk. I hate lying to the three of them. I always tell them the truth. Fred and George even know everything about my dad, and the only reason I haven't said a word to Katie is because her sister works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a secretary, and Katie tends to get a bit overexcited when she speaks to her sister. She might let something slip about the night I was reunited with Dad, and everything can go to hell in a matter of seconds.

I have a job of trying to stifle my yawns at dinner. I keep a close eye on the Head Table, making sure that Professor Snape is still sitting there talking to Professor Burbage or enjoying his roast. As I eat the last of my potatoes, Snape's gaze drifts to watch his Slytherin students as he puts down his napkin. His eyes flick toward our table before he excuses himself and gets up.

"Don't wait up," I say to my friends through the last bite of potatoes.

"Have fun brewing," Katie says grimly.

Dungeon Ten is down a corridor to the right of the Potions classroom. The corridor slopes down, dimly illuminated by only a few torches here and there. I've never been this deep below the school, but I imagine it must go miles deeper, maybe even below the lake. I wonder why a school would even have so many dungeons anyway. I'll have to ask Hermione to let me borrow her book on Hogwarts history one of these days, or at least ask her what the castle was used for before it became a school.

After fifteen minutes, I reach the door marked with a golden, slightly peeling Roman numeral ten. I'm just in time. I try the door and find it unlocked. Professors have shortcuts from the Great Hall to their offices, which I learned of from Uncle Remus last year. Snape will have made it here in less than half the time it took me.

Sure enough, Professor Snape is standing over a table at the far end of dungeon ten. The room is long and too narrow to be a classroom. At the very end there are two chain hooks still attached to the wall from centuries past. A part of the left wall is taken up by a large glass window, from the low roof to the floor, looking out into the murky depths of the lake. The rest of the walls are taken up by black shelves full to the limit with books. There are texts in every size, bound in leather, velvet, and even silk, and ranging from brand new to centuries old.

"Good evening, Professor," I say politely as I approach the table.

"Good evening, Miss...Good evening, Elizabeth," he corrects himself. His polite tone makes me feel awkward. Usually he's either yelling or sneering at me.

I remain standing about two feet away, watching as he assembles a work station, leaving the fire off. After a few moments he straightens, takes a step back, and whips around so fast that I nearly jump.

"Sit."

One worded orders. Now those I recognize. I move around the table and take a seat at the stool.

"As a Potions Mistress, you must learn more than any other student at this school. Therefore, I must teach you beyond what is taught in my classroom. We will be starting from the basics," he begins, standing straight and looking down his hooked nose at me, "This is a standard work station. It is currently flawless. Within a week, I will expect you to be able to recreate it with your eyes closed."

"That sounds simple," I nod.

"It's not," he says curtly, making me feel incompetent once again. I wonder why I'm even here. Why did I agree to do this? Is it because he practically bullied me into it? Or maybe part of me is really hoping that he _will_ teach me how to make Wolfsbane Potion. After all, my uncle is the reason I want to become a Healer in the first place.

"So, I should start by learning all the parts of the station?" I ask.

Snape nods, "You will begin by drawing. Professor Burbage has told me that you are an adequate drawer. You should have no problem including every detail of the work station. I have provided the materials you will need."

Professor Burbage has told _me_ that I'm the best drawer she's ever had in her Muggle Studies class, that I am exceptionally good, and that I ought to be a professional artist. I'm sure she must have told Snape the same things, but he'd never say them. I look down at the parchment and thin charcoal sitting on the table. I'll have to remember to bring a pencil and sketchbook tomorrow. Charcoal smudges far too easily, especially on parchment.

Just as I'm starting to draw the cauldron, Snape stands from his chair in the corner.

"I will return in an hour to check your progress."

He walks out swiftly, the door echoing throughout the long dungeon as it slams shut. I take care of every detail of the drawing, making sure that every piece of the work station is the correct distance apart and positioned in the right angle. Twice I start over from scratch on a new piece of parchment. Every now and then, the glass on the window will be tapped by a fin as a fish drifts by, and more than once I'm certain that I spot a mermaid. Other than that, the chamber is completely still and silent.

After almost an hour, I look closely at my handiwork and then back at the work station, making sure that I haven't missed a thing. Satisfied, I get up and stretch my neck and back, which have cramped up from being hunched over a piece of parchment for so long.

The bookshelves lining the walls stretch from the ground to the very ceiling. I wonder why they aren't in the library with the other books, or if they're a private library. I walk toward the nearest shelf, which is full of ancient tombs that are covered in dust, with names in Greek and Latin. Some of these books must be thousands of years old, and yet they seem perfectly preserved. I walk around the bookshelves and notice a reoccurring theme: Potions. All these books are about Potions.

The door swings open, banging loudly against the wall before slamming shut again as Professor Snape sweeps in. The man really knows how to make a dramatic entrance. I return to my seat and hand him my drawing. His eyebrows rise for a fraction of a second, but I see them anyway, before he masks his face in indifference.

"It is…sufficient," he says as if it is something physically painful to say. He waves his wand at the table and everything flies off into a box on the floor, "Now you will reconstruct the station as it was, based off the drawing. If something is placed incorrectly, I will wipe the table again and you will start over."

During my first attempt, Snape wipes the table clean within two minutes.

"The legs of the cauldron must be perpendicular to your body," Snape clips as I try again.

The second time he stops me five minutes in because the cauldron was off center by about a millimeter. The third time, I place one of the stirring sticks farther apart than I had placed the others. On the fourth try, the legs of the cauldron stand are not perfectly perpendicular. These little details go on for hours. By the time I've managed to work for more than ten minutes without the table being wiped off again, my eyes are stinging with sleep and my neck aches. There is no clock that can help me tell the time, but it seems that even the creatures of the lake have all drifted off to sleep.

"That will be all for today," Snape says when I feel just about ready to toss everything onto the floor and screw it all, "You have made progress."

"Thank you, Professor," I say quietly. Yes, I hate the man, but there is still a part of me that wants to please him, because there is a large part of me striving towards becoming an adequate Potions Mistress.

"These books are my personal collection. Some of them can be found in the Hogwarts Library. Most of them cannot. Many of them are extremely rare, if not unique. Before your time at Hogwarts has finished, you will have read every book in this library. You have, according to Madame Pince, read approximately twenty of the books found in this collection during your time at Hogwarts. That leaves approximately two hundred and eighty eight that you have yet to read."

Almost three hundred books?! I have three years to read nearly three hundred giant potions books, along with my homework?! I say nothing, but I'm pretty sure my expression says it all. Snape chooses to ignore my expression.

"You will begin with this," he hands me a normal sized, red hardcover book with a cauldron on the front. "It is a basic beginners book, purely theory. I expect notes and conclusions on the first two chapters to be on my desk by noon on Friday. You may go."

I walk out silently, my grip tight on the book as I make my way down the dark dungeon corridor. The torches that were already dim earlier have nearly extinguished. Before I've gone five meters, I whip out my wand and cast a _Lumos_ spell.

The castle is completely still down in the dungeons. My footsteps echo eerily in the darkness as I walk quickly higher towards the main floor. When I'm nearly at the door that will lead me back to the Entrance Hall, I'm startled by the creaking of a door behind me. I spin quickly around, raising my wand toward the door to Professor Snape's office. The scruffy, ragged form of Professor Moody limps down the corridor towards me, his staff thumping against the floor with every step.

"Who goes there?" he growls, reminding me of the giants in one of Mum's old muggle fairy tales. _Fee, Fi, Foe, Fum, I smell the blood of a Hogwarts Student._

"S-Sorry, Professor," I stutter, lowering the light so that Moody can see my face, "You startled me."

"Humph," he grunts, limping closer to me until I can see him clearly. His magical eye spins about and finally lands on me, "Miss Black, is it? Care to explain what you're doing in the dungeons so long after curfew?"

"I was in one of the lower dungeons with Professor Snape, sir," I explain, "He's teaching me to make Wolfsbane Potion."

"Wolfsbane, eh?" he grunts, "That'll be for your uncle, I expect. He was always a good wizard, that Lupin boy. Shame about his condition."

"Yes, sir," I nod, "It is."

"I hear he was a pretty decent teacher around here. Too bad someone had to open his mouth. Cowardice is what that was, pure cowardice," he says in a gravelly voice, walking toward the end of the corridor.

"I suppose it was," I agree.

"It's the least Snape could do, really, after outing him like that."

"Sir, do you…not like Professor Snape?" I ask tentatively.

"It's not about liking him, girlie," he grunts, "It's about whether or not I trust him. And let me tell you, I wouldn't trust a man who doesn't trust his colleagues enough to sleep on the same floor as them."

All of the professors and staff, excluding Hagrid, have their personal quarters in the same wing of the castle. Professor Snape has always chosen not to use his quarters, and instead sleeps in one of the dungeons.

"Is that why you were in his office, sir?"

"Aye," says Moody, his magical eye spinning to look behind us, towards the door of Snape's office, "Thought a quick look wouldn't hurt. Here we are."

Moody pushes open the door at the end of the dungeons and we walk out into the Entrance Hall, which is dimly lit by a few torches that are still burning.

"I'd head straight up to bed if I were you, Missy," he says, leaning both hands on his staff, "Wouldn't want anything to come out at you this late at night."

"I will. Thank you, Professor."

I start my way up the stairs, the clink of Moody's staff growing fainter as he heads towards the teachers' quarters.

"And say hello to your father for me the next time you speak to him."

I freeze with my right leg halfway up a step. My feet and hands go cold and I turn, very slowly, to face Moody again. But he's gone.

My legs shake all the way up to my dormitory. What did Moody mean by that? Does he know I keep in contact with dad? Has he been spying on me, just like he's been spying on Professor Snape? I can't write to Mum about it. The Ministry is still watching her too closely. I might be able to contact Uncle Moony, but the owl might be intercepted, unless Tonks is watching.

Tonks!

I can send my letter to Nymphadora Tonks and have her give it to Uncle Remus somehow.

Plan forming in my mind, I decide that I'm too exhausted to write at the moment. I'll go to sleep and write my letter during my free hour tomorrow, right before I start reading the first two chapters of the book. I crawl into bed with the hardcover to skim through the pages. It's only about three hundred pages long, but there are only four chapters, which means that I have to read, takes notes, and draw conclusions on at least a hundred and fifty pages of tiny print by noon on Friday.

With a last inward groan, I place the offending book on the bedside table and blow out the candle next to it, drifting off into another night of restless sleep.

**Talk about creepy! What's up with Mad-Eye Moody? **


	7. New Arrivals

**This chapter is mostly filler, but I needed those letters to get sent out.  
****I'm thinking about writing a Tonks-centric one-shot for this...**

Wednesday evening passes the same as Tuesday, with Snape leaving to deal with Neville Longbottom's detention. When he returns, he gives a satisfied though indignant nod at the perfect work station I've created.

"Tomorrow evening's lesson is cancelled. I still expect your notes by noon on Friday. Friday evening will continue on as usual."

I wake up early on Thursday morning and head toward the Owlery, the letter for Tonks clutched tightly in my hand. It took a while to figure out what exactly I should write, in case the letter somehow got into the wrong hands. And of course, I had to be very sneaky with the wording, but I'm sure that if Tonks is smart enough to be an Auror, she'll be smart enough to figure out the subliminal messages in the letter that says:

_Dear Tonks,_

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I'm doing alright. School has only just begun, but I've got more work than ever. And to top it off, I've got a bit of a __seriously__ personal problem. Usually I would ask Mum or my uncle for advice, but the thought of someone else reading their mail and learning about my deepest, darkest secrets is so embarrassing. _

_ You said that if I ever needed anything, I could come to you. Would you help me? It really is quite embarrassing and I would really like to keep it a secret between us._

_ Sincerely,  
Lizzie._

_ P.S. What do you know about Professor Moody? Is he really as mad as everyone thinks? He says some of the strangest things. _

I watch Cleo fly off with a sigh before heading back to the castle with a nervous thumping in my heart. We've got Defense Against the Dark Arts first hour tomorrow. So far I've managed to avoid Professor Moody, but I really, really need a response from Tonks before I have to walk into his classroom. I want to know if he's an ally, or somebody else to be careful with.

I savor dinner that evening like it's the last meal I'll ever have. By the time I've finished my first plate, Fred and George are already taking their last spoons of pie and standing.

"Loads to do," says George.

"Got to get to work."

"Are you going to tell us what on?" asks Katie.

"Nope."

"Don't even bother asking."

I roll my eyes and finish my dinner quickly, realizing that leaving now would mean Lee and Katie would be left alone. And since the rest of us have been betting on when the two of them will finally admit their feelings for each other, I've decided that leaving the two of them alone is the best way to give them a push in the right direction.

"All finished," I say, grabbing two cookies to take back to the common room with me and rushing off before the other two can say anything.

The common room is just starting to get noisy when I enter. I look toward the corner where Fred and George are sitting, and they hunch closer together, their backs turning away from me. I roll my eyes and laugh. This prank better be brilliant. I walk upstairs to get the book Snape lent me and some ink and parchment. The window by my bed is opened, and in the center of my four-poster is a hastily folded up note that Cleo must have dropped off earlier. I close the window and take the note, scribbled in glittery purple ink.

_Dear Lizzie,_

_ Your letter caught me just before I left for work. I'm glad to hear from you. You don't need to worry about your uncle. I'm in charge of watching him. Your mum is being watched be some promotion hunting rookie, though, so she needs to be extra careful. Write me another letter, along with your letter to Mr. Lupin written in invisible ink. I'll give it to him. _

_ You can write to me about anything. Nobody checks my mail. _

_ As for Moody, he's a great man. The main reason people thought he'd gone mad was that he insisted your father was innocent. He still stands by it. He's a good ally if we want to get anywhere. People may think he's off his rocker, but he's still influential where he needs to be. Not to mention, he's the most brilliant Auror anybody alive has ever seen._

_ I have to go now. Hope to hear from you soon._

_ With love,  
Tonks._

The breath that I didn't realize I'd been holding tumbles out in relief. I can't talk to Mum about everything I'd like, but at least I have a way of properly communicating with Uncle Remus now. Also, I can be a bit more at ease with tomorrow's DADA class.

The morning's DADA lesson leaves a large part of the class shaken up, including myself. I've heard a couple stories about the Order of the Phoenix and the war from Mum and Uncle Remus, but they always left out the kind of thing that would happen to somebody if they got caught. The afternoon's Herbology lesson proves to be enough of a distraction, and with my last hour of the day as a free hour, I finish my notes and conclusions on the first two chapters and begin reading the next one.

If Snape is surprised to find my work finished and turned in a day before it's meant to be, he doesn't say anything as I place it on the desk in Dungeon Ten that evening. The lesson is cut short due to a staff meeting, but I manage to get the station set up perfectly with only two looks at my drawing.

"You will stay until midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. On Sunday mornings you will come in at ten thirty, go to lunch at the regular time, come back at one and stay until dinner, and have a free evening. You will turn in notes and conclusions on the next three chapters by Tuesday. Dismissed."

There are few people left in the common room when I arrive. Fred and George are once again hunched over in the corner acting suspiciously. I narrow my eyes at them for a moment before a snort by one of the windows catches my attention and I find Harry and Ron bent over star charts and prediction forms.

"Try running into a clan of vampires," I suggest, sitting down in a chair in front of Harry and Summoning my History of Magic essay, "Katie says that's one of Trelawney's favorites."

"Don't mind if I do," says Harry, scribbling my idea into an empty slot.

"Have you gotten anything from him?" I ask, unrolling my parchment and making sure my quill is sharp enough.

"Nothing," says Harry, leaning back into his armchair.

"What did you write to him about, anyway?" I ask.

Ron tenses and goes strangely still, looking between me and Harry. Harry sighs and ruffles his hair in a way that I've seen James do in nearly all his pictures.

"I've been meaning to tell you since the Cup, but I couldn't get a moment alone with you," he says, his eyes flicking toward the corner where Fred and George are rolling up their parchment, "This summer, a few days before the Cup, I had this strange dream. I can't really remember all the details, but Wormtail was in it, and another man, and they were talking to Voldemort."

"Harry!"

Harry ignores Ron's urgent whisper and continues, "When I woke up, my scar was hurting."

"Your scar?" my eyes flick up toward the lightning bolt that is half hidden by his hair, "Has it ever done that before?"

"Back in first year," he nods, "But it only happened when I was close to him, or when his host would look at me."

"Well that's not an option," I answer in a low voice, "Dumbledore isn't exactly known for making the same mistakes twice, and with Mad-Eye Moody around, there's no way. Unless Moody's hiding Voldemort behind his hair."

Ron shivers, but instead of reprimanding me, he opens his mouth to say, "Do you think that's possible?"

"Merlin, no, Ron! I was joking. Few people can get close enough to Moody to shake his hand, let alone possess him," I laugh dryly, "Besides, that kind of Dark Magic requires consent on both parties, and I think we'll all agree that Moody agreeing to help a Dark Wizard is about as likely as Moody agreeing to dance Swan Lake in a tutu."

The others laugh at this, but I lean forward and ask Harry in an even lower voice, "What else do you remember about the dream? Did you see Voldemort?"

"No…sort of. He turned around to face where I was facing, but I don't really remember what I saw, just that it was horrifying to me at the moment."

"But he was physically there?" I ask.

"I guess so," Harry shrugs, looking concerned, "Why?"

I stare at him for a moment, debating whether I should tell him my theory. Will he think I'm being paranoid like Fred and George did? What if I'm wrong?

"Look, Harry," I start slowly, "I'm no expert on Dark Wizards. But I have this theory. Fred and George think I'm crazy, but…"

"Wait," he holds up a hand, "If I've learned one thing, it's that when it comes to Hogwarts, the craziest ideas are usually the ones that end up being right."

I smile and lean forward a bit more to whisper, "Last year, when I thought Dad was a Death Eater, I made Uncle Remus tell me everything he knew about them, including how to identify if somebody really was one. Death Eaters have a special way of communicating. The Dark Mark is tattooed onto their arm."

"They have that _thing_ on their skin?" asks Ron, looking ready to be sick.

I nod with a grimace, "It's how they call each other. One Death Eater touches the Mark, and everybody Apparates to his or her location. Uncle Remus says that the Mark must be cursed in some way. Curses wear off when their creator dies. Voldemort didn't die completely, so I figure the Mark is still faint on the Death Eater's skin. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Pettigrew, and plenty of other rich purebloods that wormed their way out of Azkaban are never seen with their arms uncovered."

"But what does that have to do with my scar hurting?" asks Harry, his voice equally low as mine and his eyes flickering from one side to another.

"Your scar is the mark of a curse that Voldemort gave you, Harry. Just like the Dark Mark he gave to all his followers. While he's weak, your scar remains dormant, just like the Dark Mark tattoos. But if he gets stronger, your scar hurts, and their Dark Marks start to act up. I think that's what happened at the World Cup. They weren't just celebrating the Ireland victory, they were drinking to their leader. They attacked because they were sure of getting away with it."

"You think You-Know-Who is getting stronger?" Ron's voice cracks.

"I think it's possible," I nod, "We've always known this would happen. He managed to latch onto a host three years ago. Maybe he's managed to get a body of his own now, no matter how weak it is. I don't know how much help Wormtail can be, but he must be doing something."

The conversation ends there, with each of us sitting back and trying to do homework while being engrossed in our own thoughts. While Harry's dream and the pain in his scar aren't exactly solid proof to my theory, they do add a bit more credibility to it. I know Uncle Remus will give me the same look that Fred did and pat me on the head if I told him, and Mum would sigh and tell me I'm looking too deep into things, but I know this hunch is too strong to be fake. I wonder what Dad would think? He might believe me. He's always sounded like the type of man who has plenty of faith in another's intuition.

Hermione shows up a few minutes later with a box full of badges. Ron looks at her like she's the most ridiculous thing on the planet, while Harry looks like he's stuck between laughter and exasperation. I'll be the last person to tell Hermione she can't do something, so I give her a few sickles and take the badge, planning to toss it into my trunk where a House-Elf won't see it and get offended.

"Hedwig!" Harry shoots out of his chair and runs to the window so fast that I have to pull my feet back onto the chair before getting up myself.

"Is that an answer?"

"Yes!" says Harry, "About time."

Harry scrambles over to sit down and read, while I run behind him to read over his shoulder, sighing in relief. It's a short letter, clearly written in a great hurry.

_Harry —_

_ I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore – they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is._

_ I'll be in touch soon. Give Lizzie a big hug for me. And tell her that there is nothing that either you or _her_ can do to stop me from travelling north. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry._

_ Sirius_

"Is he INSANE?!" I yell loud enough for the two seventh years that were making out in the corner to start and let go of each other.

"Shh!" Hermione waves her hands at me and ushers me into a chair.

Harry smacks himself in the forehead, "I shouldn't have told him! I made him think he's got to come back."

"He's an idiot," I shake my head, rubbing at my temples, "He's going to get himself killed."

After a few more curses on mine and Harry's part, we both head up to the dormitories.

"I'll write to him in the morning and tell him not to come," says Harry before we part at the staircases.

"You read what he wrote. It's not going to stop him," I shrug.

"It's worth a try," he answers, squeezing my shoulder, "Goodnight, Lizzie."

I sigh and give his arm a light squeeze, "Goodnight, Harry."

"Try to get some sleep," he says as I start up my staircase.

"Not making any promises."

I'm so busy the next couple of weeks that it's hard to focus much on my Dad's letter. Instead of waiting for him to answer Harry, I sent Cleo off with my own note the day after we received his:

_Dear Dad –_

_ I don't care what you say, you must _not_ come back! I know you mean well, and I think your suspicions about these signs are the same as mine, but let Dumbledore figure this one out. If something _does_ happen regarding Voldemort, you're no use to us in Azkaban without a soul. Please, please just let Dumbledore take care of this._

_ There are a couple of people willing to believe you're innocent, but not enough to keep you out of trouble if somebody sees you. Please stay where you are. And whatever you do, don't go visiting Mum or Uncle Remus. _

_ I love you. Please be careful._

_ Lizzie_

Neither of our letters has been answered, and I take that to be a sign that my dad is not going to do as we say. Even so, there's little time for me to worry between all the homework that has been loaded on us, the strain of Moody's classes, and having to learn the properties of almost every potion ingredient known to man.

When the third week of October comes, I'm left wondering where September went. The loads of homework are temporarily forgotten when the arrival of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are announced. Even Fred and George seem to crawl out of their corner to chat excitedly with the rest of us.

On the morning of October thirtieth, the whole castle is positively sparkling. The portraits have all been cleaned, the suits of armor shined, and even the walls seem to have been thoroughly scrubbed down. The Great Hall is decorated with banners of the four houses, and the tables seem to have received a proper scrubbing. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are sat next to the twins, and based on the looks on the boys' faces, Hermione seems to be pestering them all about something.

"Not once, in over a thousand pages, does _Hogwarts, A History_ mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!" Hermione waves her hands about as I sit down.

Harry starts to scarf down his eggs, Ron rolls his eyes at the ceiling, Fred becomes very interested in his bacon, but George leans forward.

"Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?"

"No, of course not. I hardly think students are supposed to."

"Well, the three of us have," says George, pointing to me and Fred, "Loads of times to nick food. And we've met them, and they're happy. They think they've got the best jobs in the world."

I'm impressed by George's statement. He's the first person to have pointed this out to Hermione, but she doesn't seem to care. She's about to retort when the whoosh of a hundred owls sounds above us. I immediately look up, trying to find Cleo or Hedwig.

"Look," Hermione tugs on my sleeve and points at the ceiling, where Harry's snowy owl is gliding toward us.

"What's it say?" I ask in a hushed voice as Harry opens the letter. Fred and George start talking about the Tournament amongst themselves, probably thinking that I'll tell them what's going on later.

_Nice try, you two._

_ I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig or Cleo. Keep switching owls, and send letters one at a time. Don't worry about me, just look out for yourselves and stick together. Lizzie, don't let Harry out of your sight. Harry, don't forget what I said about your scar and stick close to Lizzie. She's been raised by Remus and my wife, so she's smart, and she knows how to defend herself just as well as you do. Stick together. Take care of each other. _

_ Sirius_

Nobody pays much attention in their classes throughout the day, but my distraction has less to do with the Tournament and more to do with Dad's letter. He made it this far, but I still can't help but worry. Although it _is_ a bit reassuring that I won't have to wait weeks for his replies.

I spend my free hour at the end of the day writing three letters. The first is addressed to Mum:

_Dear Mum,_

_ Sorry I took so long since my last letter. With our OWLs coming up, the teachers are adding to the workload considerably. Not to mention all the extra Potions lessons I've been taking, and helping Madame Pomphrey whenever I can, which is almost never. _

_ The delegations from the other schools are arriving later this evening. Professor Flitwick looks like he's on the verge of a nervous breakdown. You should see how spotless this place looks. I think Snape even de-greased his hair. _

_ I got a letter today from my friend Marina. You remember her, don't you? She says she's continuing her travels, and is currently in the country. I doubt I'll see her while she's here, but maybe we can meet up in Hogsmeade or something. It would be nice to see her after so much time away. She thinks the whole ordeal about the Triwizard Tournament is incredible. _

_ Anyway, I still have another letter to write and then I should get ready for the foreign arrivals._

_ Love you,_

_ Lizzie._

I stare at the letter for a while, making sure that it doesn't give away anything that it shouldn't. After the third read, I'm satisfied with the words and move on to another piece of parchment and begin a letter to Moony.

_Dear Uncle Remus,_

_ I'm sending you this letter with Tonks so that there's no possibility of it being intercepted. I hope everything is going well with your new job, and that your transformations are not causing you too much trouble. _

_ Snape said you and Mum would find out through Dumbledore, but I want to give you the news myself, even if you already know: Professor Snape has named me his apprentice. I still don't trust him, and having to spend my evenings in a dungeon with him definitely makes me uneasy, but I've always had an affinity for Potions, and who wouldn't want to hire a Healer that's also a Potions Mistress? Imagine everything I could do! I could cure all sorts of things with the right knowledge! The training is a lot of work, and so is being a fifth year what with OWLs and all, but I'm pulling through._

_ With that done, I should probably get to the real reason I'm writing this letter. On the day of the World Cup, Harry told me that he'd written to Dad, but he didn't say what he'd written about. A few weeks ago we were sat in the common room, and he caught me up on what's been going on._

_ A few nights before the Cup, Harry had a dream involving Wormtail, a strange man, and Voldemort. When he woke up, his scar was hurting. That's only happened when Voldemort was nearby, as some sort of warning. Dad replied that he's been hearing a lot of rumors, and that Dumbledore must have brought Moody out of retirement because he's reading the signs. I think I know what he means by signs. A Ministry witch disappearing, the Death Eaters suddenly gaining confidence at the Cup, Dumbledore getting Snape to train another Potions expert; think about it. Three years ago, Voldemort got somebody to help him regain enough power to steal the Stone. What if after what happened last term, Pettigrew went groveling back? If Harry's scar can warn him when Voldemort is around, do you think it can also warn him when Voldemort is gaining power?_

_ I haven't expressed all my theories and questions to anyone. I started talking about it to Fred, but he thought I was paranoid. I hope you don't think so. Dad doesn't seem to think so, because the pain in Harry's scar was enough to make him come back to the country. He says he's well hidden, and as long as he sticks to being a dog I guess he'll be alright. I told him not to contact you or Mum. I'm worried about him, but he seems to think he's made the right choice in coming back. _

_ I'll keep you up to date on anything new. Send your answers back with Tonks. _

_ With love,  
Lizzie_

I pull out my wand and mutter a long spell under my breath. It's a spell that Uncle Remus told me about many years ago during one of his bedtime stories, and I've been secretly working on it for the past few months. Slowly, the ink on the parchment disappears, leaving behind a completely blank page. I scrawl a list of book titles and authors, some real and some made up, with the name Rose Barton (my grandmother's maiden name) and a fake address written at the bottom.

Finally, I pull out the third piece of parchment. I don't understand how, but of all the letters, this is the hardest to write.

_Dear Tonks,_

_ There's something that's been bothering me for a while, and I need some advice. I don't want to tell Katie or Angelina anything yet, and telling Mum is out of the question. I've never had an older sister or anything like that, so I guess maybe what I need is somebody older to hear me out, but who still remembers what it's like to be my age. I guess all I really have to ask is this: Have you ever had feelings for somebody you weren't supposed to? Like, say, a friend? How do you know when that you're falling for someone like that? _

_ This has been scratching at the back of my head for a while, and I guess I just need to get it off my chest. Thanks for taking the time to read a teenager's rant._

_ Lizzie._

_P.S. I'm sending a list of books with my letter. Could you give it to the cashier at the muggle bookstore we talked about?_

With all three letters ready to be sent out, I pull on my cloak and rush downstairs, running to reach the Owlery and get back in time for the other schools' arrival. Cleo is sent off with the letter to Mum, and I send one of the school owls with the letter and "reading list" for Tonks.

I can see the entire school already forming into groups out on the grounds when I step out of the Owlery, so I run almost the whole way down. By the time I step into place between Katie and Romilda Vane, clutching a stitch at my side and pushing the curls that came loose from my ponytail out of my face, most of the students and staff are already in place.

"Miss Black!" McGonagall snaps before stepping into her place. "Fix your hair and try to stand up straight!"

"Up to no good in the owlery?" a voice whispers in my ear.

"Just treason and consorting with Death Eaters," I whisper back, returning Fred's sly smile before a couple of first years start to yell and point toward the sky...


	8. Halloween Signs

**I AM FINALLY BACK! And as is my custom after a long hiatus, you all get two chapters today :D**

_**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Lizzie would have been canon and I would've given out more information on James Sirius' first day at Hogwarts yesterday.**_

I awake at sunrise on Halloween. I promised Fred, George, and Lee that I would check their Aging Potion before they took it. I agreed not because I think this plan will actually work, but because I don't want them to poison themselves.

As I sneak towards the third floor, my mind wanders back to the letter I sent Tonks yesterday. My father is in the country being hunted like a wild animal, my mother is rebounding from depression while under surveillance, my uncle is suffering his transformations alone, and Voldemort might be gaining strength. Yet all I can manage to think about is whether or not I'm in love with my best friend.

I try not to look Fred in the eyes as I step into the empty classroom where the boys have been brewing, or as I check their work to make sure everything is right. I walk downstairs a couple steps behind the three boys as they goof off, and when we reach the Entrance Hall I step aside to let them have their moment.

"I'm not sure this is going to work, you know," says Hermione. I place a hand on her shoulder and shake my head.

"Let it go, Hermione. There's no stopping them," I smile playfully, "Besides, this might be fun."

We watch as Fred, and then George, step through the Age Line for what seems to be a victorious moment. I stand dumbfounded for all of three seconds, before a loud sizzling sound sends them into the air. I'm running toward them before they even hit the floor.

"Boys! Are you—oh my…"

I try to swallow back a laugh as white beards begin to grow from their faces, but I end up snorting once before bursting into a fit of giggles, which quickly catch on to everybody else. Even Dumbledore's echoing voice sounds fairly amused as he directs the twins to the Hospital Wing.

"Miss Black," he adds from across the hall, "You may want to accompany them. I'm sure Madame Pomphrey could use the extra wand."

I walk between the boys up to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomphrey does look very busy indeed. She smiles gratefully at me and indicates the spell and wand movements necessary to get rid of the beards.

I stick around to help Madame Pomphrey with any other students who have tried to age themselves, during which I have a quick breakfast of toast and a banana, and leave at ten o'clock to make my way down to the dungeons to make up for last night's lessons.

I enter Dungeon Ten five minutes early, but Snape is already waiting. He's placed two stools at the work station today, and hanging at the front of the room, on one of the old chain hooks, is a set of black work robes not unlike the ones that he always wears.

"Good morning, Professor," I mumble as I place the book that I finished last night on the work table along with my first year Potions book that he requested I bring along. I raise my eyes at the already assembled cauldron and tools.

"Today we will begin brewing," he answers without bothering with manners, "You will be going through your old Potions Texts, and I will be adding or modifying instructions for how to make them faster and better. Those robes will be for your use alone when brewing. You will also need apprentice robes, which should be easy to find in Hogsmeade Village."

It's the first time Snape has been there throughout the entire lesson. We brew a basic Sleeping Draught following the book's instructions, which takes approximately an hour to make. Afterwards, he teaches me how to brew it in half an hour with his modified instructions, which I write into my book.

"Purchase a journal during your next Hogsmeade trip, to keep instructions for the more important potions in the same place."

"Am I supposed to focus on certain kinds of potions more than others?" I ask, stirring the potion clockwise.

"You're stirring too fast."

I slow my pace and look up at him, still expecting an answer to my question.

"That's too slow!" he snaps, his hand flying to mine and moving it in the same way I was earlier. I had expected Snape's hand to be cold, but it's surprisingly a normal human temperature. He lets go and I continue my stirring.

Clearly not getting an answer, I decide to take a jump at a bigger question, "Professor, why did Professor Dumbledore choose now to find an apprentice for you?"

Again, no answer. Snape busies himself with writing more new instructions into my book.

"Professor, please. If we have to work together for the next few years, we should at least have some sort of trust in each other. Which means that I need to know the truth. Why am I here now, and not after Hogwarts when I'm more prepared? Why is Dumbledore rushing the process?"

"He thinks it's time."

"I need more than that," I turn away from the potion as it simmers to face him, "Is it the same reason he brought Mad-Eye Moody out of retirement? And the same reason he's in such a rush to create stronger ties with the foreign schools? Professor, is Professor Dumbledore reading some sort of signs?"

"What would you know about signs, girl?" he snaps, still not looking up from his scribbles in my potions book.

"I know that people are disappearing, and the Death Eaters felt safe enough to have a little fun back in August." I leave out Harry's scar and his strange dreams, but I can't help but hint at my own, "I know that something is coming. I can feel it, if that makes sense."

"It doesn't."

"If you won't answer any of my previous questions, than at least answer this," I pause as he finally looks up at me, his expression cold and distant, "You talked about matters of life and death and war. Does Dumbledore think we might see the return of Voldemort soon?"

For a moment he twitches in a way that makes me think he may either yell at me of strike me, until I notice that the muscles in his left forearm have clenched at the name Voldemort.

My eyes widen and I turn quickly back to the Sleeping Draught, stuttering a quick, "S-sorry."

Out of the corner of my eye, Snape relaxes and leans toward the table, putting down his quill and watching me add the last ingredients to the potion in front of me.

"Elizabeth."

I'm startled by his voice, almost soft, after a few minutes of complete silence.

"Yes, Professor?"

"You ask the right questions. You must repeat this to no one. It would be unwise."

That's enough confirmation for me. I knew I was right, but I guess now I can't tell the twins "I told you so."

We don't say another word on the subject, and at noon I'm released for lunch with a new book to take notes on and instructions to come back in an hour, since there won't be time for an evening lesson after the feast and the selection of champions.

* * *

That evening after the door behind the Professor's table closes behind the three headmasters, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Mr. Crouch, the Great Hall immediately bursts into deafening noise.

I look around at Harry's friends and closer classmates. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan look dumbfounded, and are animatedly sharing theories on how Harry could have tricked the Goblet of Fire. Ron looks angry, or maybe betrayed...perhaps both. Neville and Ginny look worried. My friends have reacted much in the same way as Dean and Seamus. But the person who catches my eye most of all is Hermione. I manage to catch her eye form across the table, and she leans toward me.

"There are two things Harry hates more than anything in the world: attention and near-death experiences," she doesn't have to whisper, because the entire Hall is too busy to hear her, "There is no way he put his name in that Goblet. You saw him, you saw his reaction. Somebody else did this."

"I know," I chew my lip and stare at the door, wondering what sort of chaos must be going on inside.

"What do we do?" Hermione looks about ready to burst into tears.

"I need to tell Padfoot. And then there's somebody I have to talk to." I answer, thinking fast, "If you see Harry, tell him I'm borrowing his cloak and the map. I'll see you later."

Fred looks at me when I start to step away from our table, but I shake my head and mouth "later" before he can ask anything. With as much stealth as I can muster, I manage to make my way out of the Great Hall and rush up the stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room. It's completely empty, of course, so I easily make it up to the Fourth Year Boys' Dormitory. I've never been in here, but I recognize Harry's bed immediately because of the objects on his nightstand: a model snitch, an Ireland rosette, and a picture of a dancing couple.

I allow myself two seconds to stare at the picture. I know that fountain, and I'm pretty sure I even know what day the photograph was taken. There's a very similar picture sitting in the deepest confines of Mum's closet, of a blue-eyed woman being kissed on the cheek by a mindnight-haired man in front of the same broken fountain on a windy autumn day with leaves flying all about them. The fountian has since then been repaired, and is almost always spitting water in the center of the muggle town that is just a ten minute walk away from our house, but I'd know the cobblestones and the leaves anywhere. Both pictures must have been taken the same day: the day Mum found out she was pregnant.

I snap my gaze away from the picture and return my focus to the task at hand.

"If I were a teenage boy, where would I keep my two most prized possessions?" I mutter to myself, chewing on my lip.

The nightstand contains nothing but underwear and some holey socks in the top cabinet and a rather ugly mustard colored jumper and empty ink bottles in the bottom drawer. I peak under the bed and find Harry's trunk.

"Aha!"

With a quick _Alohamora_ I open the trunk. The main compartment has school supplies and candy wrappers lining the bottom, but my gaze falls on a flap on the inside, which seems to be stuffed with something...fabric?

Sure enough, I reach my hand inside the flap and come in contact with a soft, almost watery-feeling fabric. Harry said I could use both the Cloak and the Map whenever I needed, but I still can't help but bite my lip as I pull the wrinkled parchment and hold it next to the Cloak. The Map may have been made by all the Marauders, but the Cloak was exclusively James', and is the Potter family's greatest heirloom.

A sound downstairs makes me sprint into action. There's no time for sentimentality. I need to get out and come back before anybody realizes I've gone anywhere. I toss the cloak over my head and point my wand at the Map.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Ink seeps out onto the parchment in a matter of seconds. Too busy to be mesmerized, I look at the common room. There are a few first and second years crawling about, most of which are headed straight to their dormitories, probably exhausted from the evening's events.

I look about the dormitory one last time, just as the name Neville Longbottom appears by the Fat Lady. There's a frozen football poster taped to the wall over a desk across the room. Sure enough, there are four muggle pens sitting on it and a pad of paper. Hoping that whatever Halfblood owns the pens won't notice, I take a black ball point and rip two sheets of paper off the pad before rushing out.

Being invisible proves to be harder than I thought, especially when most of the younger students are making their way out of the Great Hall and toward their common rooms. I steer clear of the paths leading to the Professor's quarters, certain that Dumbledore and maybe even Moody will be able to see right through the cloak. The rain has thankfully settled into a soft pitter-patter, so the Entrance Hall doors remain open to allow the night air inside.

Once outside, I break into a near run, not minding if my shoes are visible since it's dark and lonely enough that no one will spot me. The Owlery is bustling with noise, but I manage to find a corner where I can write a quick note.

_Somebody put Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire. They must have used a different school, because he was chosen as the fourth champion. The professors all looked worried. Do you think this is another sign? Don't talk to anybody. _

_ Be careful,  
L._

I make a sound at the most inconspicous owl I can find and tie the folded up sheet of paper (protected by a water repelling charm) to its foot.

"Take it to Sirius Black. Fast."

The bird ruffles it's feather indignantly and flies away.

"Task one, finished. Now on to task two."

The rain is a lot stronger as I run back to the castle, hoping against hope that the door is still open. I manage to get there just in time, because the moment I tiptoe through the left door, Filch is just finishing closing the right sided one.

The noise has died down, which means that most, if not all of the students have already been sent to their dormitories. My shoes are soaked through, but the Cloak seems to resistant to water, because the rest of me is completely dry, along with the cloak.

Just as I enter the dungeons, I realize that I have no idea where I'm supposed to go. Scanning through the map, I find the dot labeled Severus Snape in his quarters, but there is no indication of an entrance.

When Uncle Remus taught last year, there was a hidden entrance to his quarters from his office, although it required a password. It was a start, so I surged forward as fast as my feet would carry me.

Snape's office is locked, but a quick wave of my wand lets me in. I really would have thought Snape would have some wards on his office when he isn't around, but I suppose not.

I fling off the Cloak and stuff it in the pocket of my robes.

"Now what?" I ask no one in particular before catching sight of myself in a grimy mirror and holding my hands up to my cheeks, "Sweet Merlin, I look redder than a bludger."

A grinding sound to my right startles me, making me jump away from the mirror.

"Next time have the decency to knock, Miss Black," a familiar voice drawls form inside, "And if all you intended to do was criticize your appearance, you should have used the mirrors in the girls' lavatory."

"Is that your way of inviting me in?" I call from the office. Since nobody answers, I assume it is and enter. Behind me, a bookcase slides back into its place, "That is far too cliché."

There is a flight of stairs just inside the door, at the bottom of which is an open stretch of wall. I step through it, only to see another bookcase as it slides back into place. Snape's sitting room is far from what I imagined. While the walls are made of stone, there is little else that suggest that we are in the dungeons.

Enchanted windows reflect the skies and the drenched grounds outside, but a large fire cracks merrily in front of nude colored sofas and deep green arm chairs. The few spaces of wall that do not contain books house either paintings or gas lamps, making the place lighter and homier than I thought possible.

"Sit."

I do as told, perching on the sofa and stretching my feet closer to the fire to dry my soaked socks and shoes. Snape raises an eyebrow at my drenched feet, but says nothing as he sits in one of the arm chairs. He says nothing as I chew at my bottom lip, staring hard at the fire.

"Harry didn't put his name in!" I finally blurt out after almost a minute.

Snape's expression doesn't change as he speaks, "While it is my opinion that Potter is foolish, irrational, has no respect for rules, and enjoys every moment of his fame," I make a face at him, but he continues as if nothing has changed, "I agree that although he would be stupid enough to try, he is not smart enough to succeed in fooling such a power object as the Goblet of Fire."

"Whoever did it, they didn't do it as a joke, did they? These games are dangerous. People die in this tournament. Whoever put Harry's name in, they did it to hurt him, didn't they?"

"It's a theory."

"One that you share?"

"One that I have not gained sufficient information to form."

"But you agree that this could be another sign, don't you?"

Snape does not answer, but instead looks at my muddy wet shoes.

"Who were you contacting?"

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"You were recently outside, Miss Black. In the rain. It only began to rain towards the end of the feast and I recall seeing you in the Great Hall before I left. Which means that after Potter's name was selected you ran outside. Seeing as everyone was gathered in the Hall until a few minutes ago, I can only imagine that you went off to send a message, or you were foolish enough to go into the Forbidden Forest."

"Fine," I huff, "I sent a letter to someone who can help."

"And who would that be?"

"That is between myself and Professor Dumbledore."

"You and the Headmaster? What secret could you hold that is so valuable as for only the Headmaster to know it?"

I cross my arms and lean further forward, not allowing him to bully me. If he expected me to be this defiant, he doesn't say anything, "You won't like the answer to that question, _Professor. _Think. Hard. And then pretend we never had this conversation if you know what's good for you."

"You dare threaten me?" he drawled, looking unimpressed.

"No. But I have very few secrets, and I'm willing to protect them no matter what the price is." I spoke harshly and with conviction. I came here for help, and so far Snape was only trying to make me feel stupid. And I for one, did not like feeling stupid.

After a staring contest that lasted nearly two minutes, Snape huffed and leaned back in the arm chair, "You have inherited the Black family's prowess for intimidation and bluffing."

"It's been known to come in handy," I said, finally standing and walking closer to the fireplace to observe the many strange objects on the mantle, "Now, am I right? Is this another sign?"

"The Headmaster agrees that it is a...discomforting situation."

"So will he pull Harry out of the Tournament?"

"The Goblet of Fire carries a binding magical contract. Once chosen, there is no getting out of it. The only way for Potter to come out, is to complete all three tasks."

"So he's just being thrown to the wolves?" I ask, growing angrier by the second.

"Dumbledore has agreed to let the events unfold. And keep a close eye on Potter, as well as anybody who can be suspected of foul play."

"And my training? If there are more signs..."

"We are already spending every free hour in Dungeon Ten. But you will have to work harder. Forgo your regular Potions homework and turn in the readings and other work I assign as part of your apprenticeship at the end of your regular class. I will see if any other teachers might be of assistance. From now on, every free moment must be spent with myself, Madame Pomphrey, or Professor Sprout learning about potions, cures, and ingredients. When the storm finally hits, you must be prepared."

"I will be."

"Is that all, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Professor Snape."

"You know where the door is."

I bow my head and stand, walking toward the bookcase that hides the door to Snape's office. Before I close it behind me, I hear two mumbled words, almost like an afterthought on the man's part.

"Sleep well."


	9. Nothing Serious

**Second chapter of the day! **

_**Disclaimer: No, I do not own Harry Potter. Stop asking.**_

* * *

I sleep in on Sunday, frantically jumping out of bed when I realize I only have forty minutes to get myself to Dungeon 10. Grabbing a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater that was amongst the chest of mum's older things that I've had since I was twelve, I skip the shower and brush my teeth in the bathroom, using a few refreshing charms so that I don't look or smell like a homeless person.

I have twenty minutes left by the time I'm finished pulling on all my clothes and tying my insane curls into a pony tail. It's just enough to run by the Great Hall to grab a piece of toast and then run down to the dungeons.

I spot Katie and Angelina sitting together in front of a large rack that holds toast.

"Why didn't you wake me?" I ask Katie, still slightly out of breath from racing down eight flights of stairs.

"I tried to wake you up twice but you were dead to the world!" says Katie, "Though if I knew that you couldn't tell the difference between a women's and men's sweater without me, I would have tried harder."

"What?" I ask, holding the jam knife above a second piece of toast.

"You're wearing a men's sweater," Angelina points out.

I sigh and continue to put jam on my toast, "Honestly, I thought it was just an oversized sweater from the 80s. I took it out of mum's old clothes."

"Then it must have been your dad's," says Katie who, as far as I know, still has reason to think that my father is a crazed murderer. But alas, she is such a good friend that she can say things like that in a way that sounds like she's talking about the weather, or anybody else's dad.

"Or my uncle's. Either way, it's warm and the dungeons are freezing."

"Speaking of dungeons," says Angelina, pointing towards the staff table, "Snape's about to leave."

"Thanks. See you at lunch." I grab my pieces of toast in a napkin and rush off.

Hermione is only a few paces ahead of me, exiting the Great Hall with her own stack of toast, so I catch up to her.

"Hermione, hey."

"Oh. Lizzie. Where did you run off to last night? I searched for you when I got back but nobody had seen you."

"I sent out a letter to our furry friend," I answer in a low voice, "Tell Harry that I already told Padfoot what happened, but he should send his own letter anyway, just not with Hedwig. I'll be in the dungeons until lunch, and then after that until dinner. If either one of us gets an answer, we can talk later tonight."

"I'll tell him. You go. I'm going to talk to him, try to figure out what he's thinking and maybe build a theory about who could have put his name in. I'll see you tonight."

"See you."

With that, I rush down to the dungeons, three pieces of toast in one hand and a fourth in my mouth. When I reach Dungeon Ten, Professor Snape is already waiting.

"You're late."

"It won't happen again."

Snape doesn't answer. He points instead to the work robes hanging on the wall. I walk over and pull them on over my sweater and jeans.

"What will I be learning today?" I ask, walking up to the cauldron and seeing new ingredients laid out.

"We're taking a leap forward, skipping some of the simpler potions. Once again, you have guessed correctly. The signs are increasing. I need you to be ready for when it hits."

"When what hits?"

"War, Elizabeth. There will be war, and I will need someone to replace me."

"Replace you?" my eyebrows knit together, not fully understanding.

"If and when the Dark Lord returns, I must continue the job that Albus Dumbledore set for me so many years ago."

"And what job is that?" I ask, for some reason dreading the answer.

"That is classified information."

He says it with such finality that I know not to continue the conversation, and instead take my place at the work station, quickly skimming over the open pages of a book that show directions for a new potion. It's a Wound Sealing potion, for basic cuts and lacerations. In the margins and in between the lines are the corrections that will make it faster and easier to brew.

Snape watches silently as I work, occasionally correcting my stirring or cutting with a couple muttered words. By the time lunch rolls around, the potion is ready to be tested.

"We will test this when we return from lunch, and then you will move on to another potion until dinner. You may go."

* * *

The next few days go on much the same. Potions becomes a greater priority than my regular classes, so much that Professors McGonagall, Burbage, and Flitwick have all excused me from regular homework so that I can spend all of my free time on reading about Potions, making Potions, and learning the cures for Potions. Snape begins to set tests at the end of every class on everything I have read and brewed. Madame Pomphrey and Professor Sprout take up my free hour on Wednesday and Thursday respectively to teach me more about ingredients and maladies.

The entire time, the back of my head is reeling with the idea of an oncoming war. What will it be like? I've heard stories and rumors about the terrors of Voldemort, and of the sorts of missions my parents and their friends went on. A war on its own is dangerous, but a war with magic can be much, much worse.

I don't even see my friends beyond meals until my free evening after dinner on Sunday.

"Lizzie?" Katie asks tentatively, sitting beside me on the couch while I stare into the fire, "Are you alright?"

"What?" I ask suddenly, snapping out of my trance like state, "Oh, sorry. I'm fine."

Fred sits on my other side, George on the armrest beside him. Lee sits on the other armrest by Katie.

"You sure don't look it, mate," says Lee, "Have you even been sleeping?"

"I sleep!" I answer defensively, knowing that they're thinking about last year when I had a short affair with Sleeping Draught, "A solid 7 to 8 hours every night. On my own."

"Lizzie, what's going on?" Fred asks quietly.

I sigh, resisting the urge to lean into him.

"I just have a lot on my mind is all."

"You know you can tell us anything," says Katie, her hand resting on my arm.

I shake my head, "Not this. I don't think I'm even _supposed_ to know about it."

"Does this have to do with all the time you're spending downstairs with the overgrown bat?" George asks seriously. My eyes widen at him, "Come on, Lizzie. We're jokers but we aren't stupid. Anybody who knows you knows that it wouldn't take you this much work to learn how to make a potion no matter how complicated. You're the best Potions maker at this school. What's really going on?"

"I can't tell you," I say quietly, bowing my head, "I swear it isn't anything bad. It's actually very good. But I can't tell you. Dumbledore's orders."

"Dumbledore?" asks Katie, "He's got you doing...whatever it is you're doing in the dungeons?"

"Yes," I run a hand through my ponytail, letting loose quite a few curls, "If Dumbledore's right, and you know he almost always is, then everyone will know what's going on soon enough. Something is going to happen soon and I'm helping prepare for when it does. That's _all_ I can tell any of you. Nothing else."

"But why you? Why do you have to help?" asks Fred, and it's not accusatory, but worried. It goes unspoken, but I know that what he really means is _Why are you the one that has to go through this?_

"Like George said. I'm the best Potions maker at this school," I shrug, standing and stretching my back, "That's a lot more than I'm allowed to say. I'm sorry."

"Lizzie!"

I turn around to see Hermione walking into the common room, Harry behind her. Hermione's eyes flick toward a desk in the corner. I follow her to it with a quick excuse to my friends while Harry races up the stairs toward the dormitories.

"Sirius finally answered," Hermione tells me in a quiet voice when we sit, "We've been trying to get you alone since Friday."

"Sorry," I say sheepishly, "I've had a lot to do."

Harry sits across me at that moment, sliding a folded up letter across the study desk. I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching too closely. Fred's eyes are trained on the back of my head, and he smiles slightly when I catch him looking before going back to the conversation with the rest of my friends. I try to hold down a blush as I open the letter to read its contents.

_Harry, Lizzie – _

_ I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted. We need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on November 22__nd__?_

_ I know better than anyone that both of you can look after yourselves and each other, and while you're around Dumbledore and Moody I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you, Harry. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you in that tournament would have been risky, especially right under Dumbledore's nose._

_ Lizzie, I think you're reading the signs almost as well as Dumbledore, but try not to get too involved. Don't ask too many questions and don't get caught snooping about. A good wizard will think you're up to no good, and a bad wizard will think you know too much. _

_ Be on the watch, both of you. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22__nd__ of November as quickly as you can. _

"You don't think he's going to try to get in again, do you?" I ask, biting my lip.

"Dumbledore would probably turn a blind eye if he did," says Hermione, "He knows your dad is innocent."

"But he would have to get through Hogsmeade first. And that's cutting it far too close."

"He'll be fine," Harry assures, although there is a crease in his brow that is shrinking his scar and saying he isn't so convinced, "He managed to get around when the entire country was on alert, he can do it now."

"Are you alright, Lizzie?" Hermione asks sincerely, "You look...worried, and not just about November 22nd."

"What did Sirius mean about the signs?"

I sigh, "It's better if he explains it on the 22nd of November. It's just that a lot of things are adding up to one possible outcome, and I think I figured out what that is." I add in a complete lie for good measure, "I can't be sure, though. It's just a hunch. Nothing serious yet."

_If you can call a war nothing serious._


	10. Love in the Time of Hogsmeade

**This chapter is a bit of a filler. Mostly, it's a back door for a one-shot from Tonks' POV. I'm not sure what day it will be up but you can expect it within a week from now. Tonks and Remus are my favorite HP couple, and as you can tell, Lizzie is very close to her uncle. You can also expect the next chapter of this story within a week. **

**_Disclaimer: I do not own or have any artistic/financial claim to the Harry Potter franchise. _ **

"Look, your owl has a package." George nudges me in the ribs on the Tuesday morning before the first task.

Cleo lands gracefully in front of me on Tuesday morning, quickly ruffling her feathers and extending her wings in front of me, her eyes flickering toward the other owls.

"Alright, Miss Peacock, that's enough. Here," I place a cracker in her mouth and pour water into a bowl, taking the envelope she was carrying in my hand. Even if I didn't recognize the writing, the bright purple ink immediately lets me know who it's from.

_ Wotcher, Lizzie!_

_ About what you said at the end of your last letter: I think this calls for a girls' day out, don't you? I'm on baby sitting duty at Hogsmeade on Friday. I have to walk around and pretend to watch Hogwarts students. A pointless task that no one really takes seriously, I assure you. How about we spend the day together and we can talk about your predicament? I think we're in a bit of a similar boat._

_ Let me know as soon as you can!_

_ With love, _

_ Tonks _

"Does anybody have a quill?" I ask, ripping off the blank space of parchment that is left at the bottom of Tonks' letter. Katie hands me one of her self-inking quills and I begin to write an answer.

"Who is this Tonks?" asks George from beside me.

"The Auror I told you about. The one who escorted my uncle and me to the Portkey for the World Cup."

"And you're friends with her?"

"Well, she _is _my cousin. And I only have two of those. It's either her or Malfoy," I grimace.

"Gross," says Angelina.

"Absolutely disgusting." Katie nods in agreement, her eyes flickering toward the Support Cedric Diggory badges that flashed at the Slytherin Table.

"Now let me write, will you?"

_Hey there Tonks!_

_ Do you think you can you spare a while to help me shop for my dress robes? Mum said I need them by December. 10:30 outside of Freya's Formalwear? __The Screaming Socks at Gladrags give me anxiety._

–_-_

Friday arrives fast enough. I catch up with Hermione on my way to Hogsmeade, who appears alone until someone whispers on my left, making me jump almost a foot in the air.

_ "_Why are you under the Cloack?" I ask Harry, trying not to move my lips too much.

"I wasn't up to feeling like a circus attraction today," he answers.

I shake my head and laugh. Harry is probably the most sarcastic person I know, next to Snape.

"For someone who hates being a celebrity, you certainly have the right amount of sass for it."

Hermione laughs, but quickly interprets Harry's silence and puts a hand to her mouth to stop herself. She's still chuckling quietly when I split from them and head toward the fancy window display of Freya's Formalwear.

"Wotcher, Lizzie."

"Hey, Tonks. Find anything that catches your fancy?"

"Honestly I'm scared to look," she chuckles, "I've never done more than stare longingly at the window display."

"You've ever been inside Freya's?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"Contrary to popular belief, an Auror's salary is complete shite. I don't think I could afford a sleeve off one of these dresses."

I grab her arm and drag her inside, "Well, come on then. You have not lived the life of a witch until you have at least walked into this shop."

The inside of Freya's Formalwear is an experience to say the least. One wall is taken up completely by dressing rooms, all of which have mirrors as outer walls, so that the moment you step out of the dressing room, you can observe yourself from every angle possible. The rest of the shop displays dresses of every style, cut, and fabric imaginable, clustered together by color. To the right are the most expensive and eye catching dresses, placed at the front so as to capture your attention and trap you into spending all of your money on fine lace, imported color-changing silk, gold thread, and semi-precious beads, pearls, and rocks.

"Dragon scales, unicorn hair thread, peacock feathers, and magic-sung crystals," Tonks reads quietly, raising an eyebrow at a rather chaotic dress on a raised dais. It looks to be by far the most expensive dress in the store.

"Ostentatious, but not very classy."

Tonks scrunches her nose, "It looks like something Patricia Parkinson would wear to a dinner party."

"Pansy's sister?" I ask as we walk farther into the shop, toward the much more normal looking dresses in the center of the room.

"The one and only. I've had the displeasure of escorting Ms. Parkinson to a court hearing."

"For what?"

"Her ex-husband was suing her for adultery and gold-digging," she snickers, "Sooo...what sort of dress are we looking for again?"

"No idea," I admit, "I've never really been shopping without my mother tagging along. Or Uncle Remus who, surprisingly, has great taste."

"I don't find that surprising," she mutters under her breath, but before I can ask her about it, she switches her pink pixie cut for long mahogany waves and calls over a store employee.

"How can I help you?" a blonde woman in her mid-thirties that reminds me of Fleur Delacour with a stick up her behind asks, looking down at my Hogwarts cloak and Tonks' Junior Auror badge.

"I need dress robes for...er..."'

"For the Yule Ball," Tonks supplies, "It's part of the Triwizard Tournament."

"Right," the woman clips, "And what would your budget be Miss..?"

"Black," Tonks answers for me again, "Elizabeth Black, of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black."

The sales lady's eyes almost bulge out of her head at the sound of my name, and probably the fortune that comes with it. She must be a pureblood, the type that still lives in the past where your last name is everything. The House of Black may have been disgraced by my dad, his brother, and Bellatrix LeStrange, but that doesn't make our money any less.

The sales lady quickly composes herself and smiles, "Jeredine, please bring Miss Black and her guest the drink of their choice. Miss Black, I think we would have much better luck in the front section of the shop. We recently had a shipment of jade beaded gowns from South America."

"Actually," I look at the nervous girl that can't be much older than me and must be one of the newer sales people, "I was hoping that Jeredine might help me find something in _this_ part of the shop. But we will take a couple of Fairie Punch if you have it."

The lady's smile falls ever so slightly, but she keeps it plastered on her face, "Of course. Jeredine. help Miss Black in selecting a dress."

"What's a Fairie Punch?" Tonks whispers as the woman walks away and Jeredine approaches with a small smile.

"Not sure, but Mum ordered it once when we came here."

"Are you looking for something in particular, Miss Black?" Jeredine asks as we are brought a pinkish red drink that smells fruity and has tiny flecks of something gold floating around inside.

"Er...I'll be honest because you seem nicer than Miss South American Jade over there: I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't think I've gone dress shopping since I was eight."

Jeredine smiles and leads me toward the dressing rooms, "Let's start by matching the best colors for your skin tone, and the best cuts for your body type. If there's a place where a girl can find her dream dress, it's here."

Nearly two hours later, Tonks and I are sat at the Three Broomsticks, warm glasses of Butterbeer nestled in our hands.

"Alright, now...What was this about a boy?" Tonks asks, eyes glittering.

I sigh, tempted to laugh at myself, "There's a million and one crazy, dangerous things happening all around me and all I can think about is whether or not I have a crush on my best friend."

"I think the crush is more than obvious, Lizzie. If it wasn't, you wouldn't have told me about it and we wouldn't be having this conversation. The question is: What are you going to do about it?"

"Err...stare at him awkwardly and hope that with enough high fives and belching it will just stop someday?"

"That's not a very good tactic," Tonks points out, her hair switching back to pink.

We spend the good part of the next hour talking about Fred. In the end I realize that I do, indeed, have a full blown crush on my best friend, and that it is probably reciprocated if all the looks and the three times he's almost kissed me (all of which make Tonks burst into giggles when I relate the way they were interrupted) are anything to go by.

"Before I go, did I mention I'm working with your uncle?"

"They still have you doing surveillance?" I ask, eyebrows knitting in worry.

"Oh, no. I think they removed the surveillance on him for now. My senior officer, Kingsley Shackelbolt, is the one in charge of tracking down your dad. But he's got something else on his plate at the moment. Can you keep a secret?"

"I'll keep yours if you keep all of mine," I smile mischievously.

"That's the spirit! Well, there's this horrible woman in the Wizengamot. Her name's Dolores Umbridge, she's undersecretary to the Minister, and by the looks of it she's hoping to take over the Minister's position when he retires or dies, depending on whatever comes first."

"And why is she so horrible?"

"She's a full blown pureblood pride supporter. She's not stupid enough to utter the word mudblood in public, but she's been responsible for dozens of legislations that put elves, goblins, centaurs, mermaids, werewolves, and vampires at a full disadvantage. She hates and opresses anyone that she considers 'abominations' or 'filthy halfbreeds.' And her most recent project is getting rid of the Ministry's Wolfsbane Program."

"That's horrible!"

"It is, and yet she's managed to rally support. There are three others at the Ministry who are also likely to become future Minister of Magic: Rufus Scrimgeour, Pius Thicknese, and my boss. Thicknese figures he won't be next until after one of the other two, and Scrimgeour says he won't waste time on what he considers 'humanitarian legislation.'"

"And what about your boss?"

"Kingsley plans to take matters into his own hands. He's put together an anonymous group of Ministry workers to gather everything we can in favor of the Wolfsbane Program. After meeting your uncle the day before the World Cup, and again when I delivered your letter, I figured he might be willing to help."

"Was he?"

"It wasn't easy but I won out in the end. We're mostly working on showing how people with his condition can easily lead normal, healthy lives and that Wolfsbane can help them become a perfectly functional part of wizarding society."

"So he's still working at the bookshop?"

"Yes, and we've got him on a trial potion. It's a new type of Wolfsbane, said to make the transformation faster and smoother."

"But Wolfsbane transformations are already painless."

"Yeah, but they wear out the person's bones. Something to do with reshaping and resizing. I don't really understand it all. I'm shite at Healing. But it's supposed to help them with bone wear in the long run. Apparently lycanthropy gives you arthritis."

I sit back, "Well, at least I know he's in good hands, and that morning afters won't be so bad now. That's one less thing to worry about."

"Remus is perfectly fine as long as he's in my hands." Tonks' eyes widen and she blushes the moment the words leave her mouth, "Err...I mean...I can...err...I can take care of your uncle for you."

"I knew what you meant," I smile, winking at her. The blush creeping up her face reaches her bright pink hair, which has begun to take on a slightly cherry red tint. I smirk in a way that would make Fred and George proud, "What I didn't know, however, was that you are now on a first name basis with my uncle. Does he call you Nymphadora?"

"Nobody calls me Nymphadora," she mumbles, but looks away, the blush continuing to heighten.

"He totally does! He calls you Nymphadora and you like it!" I gasp, "Nyphadora Tonks, do you have a crush on my uncle?"

"Wha...that is...I'm so much younger than he is!"

"So?"

"So...he...he's not looking for someone like me. I'm just a clumsy twenty-three year old and he's an intelligent man with intelligent tastes and good manners and..."

"And you have a huge crush on him. You do. Do you know what you have to do?"

"Ignore it until it goes away?" she winces, mirroring my words from before.

"No. You have to take your own advice and tell him how you feel!"

"Do you not know your uncle?! He would go off on some self-pity rant and then tell me he's too poor and dangerous and old and who knows what else! And I would end up heartbroken and feeling like a silly little schoolgirl."

"Ooooor...he could realize that he's been missing a bit more color and fun and spontaneity in his life and kiss you then and there. And you'd end up married with tiny little hair morphing, sweater wearing, classic novel reading children running around your home and knocking things over."

"Thank you. Now I'll never get that wonderful image out of my head."

"You could even have matching arm chairs where you would paint your toes while he would read a book to you."

"Stop that."

"Did I mention he's an amazing cook? And he built me a treehouse when I was seven."

"Silence!"

"And sometimes when my mum or I are sad, he'll push the couches in the living room against the wall and put on jazz music and dance with us. He's a really good dancer."

"Okay, okay! I will go and tell him how I feel if that will make you stop putting all these wonderful images in my head."

"Thank you."

"But you have to go tell Charlie's brother how you feel."

"What?!"

"It's a two way deal, Black. I tell Remus. You tell Fred. By Christmas."

"And what happens if we don't?"

"The other one does it for her in the most public and humiliating way possible. Please. It's the only way I'll actually do it."

"Deal," I answer, feeling braver than I probably am. I hold out my hand and Tonks shakes it.

"Deal. I should get going. My shift is almost over here, and I have to get up to the castle. They've put me on guard duty for the first task. There's going to be at least a thousand wizards coming in and they need to tighten security. We've got a meeting with Dumbledore later."

"We can go up together. I've already bought everything I needed. I think I'll go upstairs and take a nap," I say, thinking about the late night meeting scheduled with Dad.

Tonks and I keep up the conversation until we reach the seventh floor and I enter the common room. Since there are still a couple hours before students have to get back, the common room is mostly scattered with younger students and a few older ones who don't get as excited about visits to the village as they did before. Deciding that I really could do with a nap, I head upstairs and strip down to a tank and underwear, snuggling into the covers and falling asleep, thinking that I'll worry about my boy issues on top of everything else some other time.


	11. No Easy Task

**Disclaimer: I do not own rights to Harry Potter, its characters, or any other part of the story.**

I'm shaken awake urgently by a pair of hands on my shoulders.

"Ah – wha – whas apning?"

"Lizzie, it's past midnight. You need to get downstairs!" a voice whispers urgently.

"Huh?" I ask, still groggy but sitting up.

"You slept all day," Hermione whispers, casting cautious looks at my sleeping roommates, "Everyone's gone to bed. You need to get downstairs."

"Shite," I whisper, whipping out of bed and grabbing a pair of pajama pants from the bedside drawer, "What time is it?"

"Twelve forty."

"Is Harry down there?"

"He hasn't come back from Hagrid's," Hemrione answers as we silently make our way out of my dormitory and start down the stairs.

"What was he doing at Hagrid's this late?"

"I don't know. He asked Harry to meet him at midnight under the Invisibility Cloak."

"And he didn't think that could make him late for the meeting?"

"I tried to tell him but you know he won't listen to me," Hermione sighed.

"Yeah, I know," I say, raising my voice only slightly once we're away from all the sleeping Gryffindors, "Go on up to bed, Hermione. If Harry doesn't make it I'll just relay whatever Padfoot says later. I was really hoping the three of us could be here, though."

"I know, but you know what he's like. Hopefully he'll get here in time. Goodnight, Lizzie."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

I sit down on one of the chairs in front of the fire, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I must have really been tired if I slept the entire afternoon and half the night. My stomach grumbles when I realize I missed dinner, and that my lunch consisted of a cheese sandwich and biscuits from the Three Broomsticks.

Ten minutes pass and my nervous glances toward the Portrait Hole become more and more frequent. What is taking Harry so long? And why on earth would Hagrid ask him to meet so late outside the castle? Isn't he supposed to be a professor? Why didn't he come pick Harry up himself? The last time Harry was out alone at night to see Hagrid he almost got eaten by giant spiders. And the time before that he literally ran straight into Voldemort himself.

Realizing that I'm sitting around worrying like an old maid, I sit up and take a deep breath, looking at the clock above the mantle again.

The Portrait Hole opens just five minutes before one o'clock.

"Finally!" I exclaim just above a whisper, "Where in Merlin's name have you been? Your shoes are all dirty."

Harry flings himself into an armchair across from me, tossing his Invisibility Cloak to the side.

"I was with Hagrid. You'll never believe what the first task is going to be!"

"What?"

"I'd like to know, too, if you don't mind."

Harry and I both jump slightly, an excuse ready at the tip of my tongue before I realize that the voice came from the fire, and that it's one I recognize.

"Dad," I sigh in relief, "I thought you were a prefect."

"Not even close," he winks. His appearance had been better when I saw him at the beginning of the summer than when we'd met at the Shrieking Shack, but now he looks healthier. The color has returned to his skin, although he is still pale like me. His cheeks have filled out and his face is clean shaven, and his long hair has been combed through, "How are you two?"

I look at Harry, figuring he's got much more to worry about at the moment, "You first."

Harry launches into the story of what's happened since his name was drawn, with Dad and I listening intently. I bristle at the thought of Ron leaving Harry to fend for himself, choosing to believe that Harry went looking for attention instead of realizing that his best friend is in danger. I bite my tongue on any remark, however, knowing that we probably have very little time and that Harry's safety is our biggest priority.

"And now Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons! I'm a goner for sure."

"Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute. I haven't got long here," says Dad, "I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time."

"That's dangerous!" I say a little too loud, making Harry shush me with a hand on my mouth.

"You'll wake someone up."

"Sorry," I whisper sheepishly, looking back at Dad, "What were you thinking?"

"I needed a way to speak to you, and with the task coming up I expect Hogwarts is swarming with Aurors. I'd never make it back in. Now, there are some things I need to warn you about."

"What?" asks Harry, clearly not believing anything can get worse.

"Karkaroff. Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"Yes – he – what?"

"He was caught," says Dad, "He was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet everything that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year. Moody was the one who caught Karkaroff in the first place."

"But why would they release him?" I ask, leaning closer to the fireplace.

"He made a deal with the Ministry," Dad answers, the bitterness clear in his voice, "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then he gave names...he put a load a load of other people into Azkaban in his place. He's not very popular there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Drumstrang champion as well."

"Do you think Karkaroff put Harry's name in the Goblet?"

"If he did, he must be a very good actor," says Harry, "He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing."

"We _know_ he's a good actor," Dad answers, "because he convinced the entire Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the _Daily Prophet_ and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month. Moody was attacked the night before he started Hogwarts."

"But that was..."

"I know she says it was a false alarm, but I don't think so. I think someone tried to stop him form getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a little more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he can't still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"He said something to me," I say, suddenly remembering the comment that put me off so long ago, "I don't know if he knows it for a fact, or he was just testing my reaction. But he said something about the next time I talked to you."

"Well, Moody vouched for me on more than one occasion. It was one of the reasons people started thinking he was going mad."

I nod, recalling similar comments.

"So Moody is definitely on our side, then?" I ask, "We can trust him?"

"I believe so," said Dad.

"So...what are you saying?" Harry asks slowly, "You thinking Karkaroff is trying to kill me? But why?"

Dad and I share a look through the fire, knowing that this is where I gets evermore complicated.

"There are...signs," I say slowly.

"Signs?"

"The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately," Dad explains, "They showed up at the World Cup, and set off the Dark Mark. And then...did you hear about that witch frrm the Ministry of Magic who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?"

"Exactly...she disappeared in Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumored to be last...and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she? I knew her. She was at Hogwarts a few years above us. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination. I'd say she'd be very easy to lure into a trap."

"So you think Voldemort got wind of the Tournament, and that Karkaroff is here on his orders?" asks Harry, still seeming to have a hard time believing everything we're saying.

I bite my lip and put a hand on Harry's knee, "There are signs Harry. A lot of signs. I think...Dumbledore and some of the professors are reading them, too. Dumbledore went through all this trouble to bring back a long-dead tradition, and he keeps going on about building friendships and strong relationships with foreign wizards. I think he's trying to build allies. And then..."

"What?" asks Harry when I stop.

"What is it, Lizzie?"

I sigh, running a hand through my hair and looking between my dad in the flames and Harry beside me, "I've been having...dreams. They started over the summer, and I didn't really pay much attention to them. It wouldn't be the first time I had trouble sleeping or woke up from a nightmare...But then with what happened at the World Cup...and now that I know Dumbledore is preparing for something..."

"What else do you know, Lizzie?" asks Dad, "What are you not telling us?"

Harry looks slightly betrayed for a moment, but the scared look in my eyes seems to soften his expression, "What is it?"

"Dumbledore is preparing," I whisper, "You can't tell anyone...he's preparing for a fight...I'm not taking Remedial Potions, Harry, or learning to make Wolfsbane. Professor Snape is...I'm his apprentice...And I've spent every free hour of the last few months learning how to make healing potions, truth potions, antidotes, and poisons. Anything that might be useful for...for..."

"For a war," says Dad, and I nod, "It's smart. We didn't have a Potions Master last time. The closest we did have were Lily and Remus, but neither of them could make Potions as fast and as well as a proper Potions Master. I just wish you had a different teacher."

"He's the best there is, Dad. Regardless of how much you hate each other, it is what it is."

"Yes, yes, I know. Just be careful."

"So you see, Harry," I say, turning my attention back to the green eyed boy whose head must be spinning by now, "This must all be connected somehow. Something is coming...at least that's what the strange shadow in my dreams always says. And this must all be part of some bigger plan. Whoever put your name in the Goblet of Fire did it for a reason, and I can't help thinking that the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where I'm standing," says Harry, "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"Right – these dragons," says Dad, before suddenly going quiet, "Someone just Apparated into the front yard. I have to go. Take care of each other. Watch out for one another and be careful!"

And with a tiny pop of the fire, the flames went back to red and Dad's face was gone.

* * *

"Might I offer you a bet?" George asks as we start our way toward the arena of the first task on Tuesday.

"You're joking, right?" I ask, raising and eyebrow at my friend.

"I'll take that as a no," says George, wandering off through the crowd to make more offers on the betting pool. Fred is entertaining a couple of second years who seem convinced of their luck, so I latch onto Katie and Angelina so as not to lose them.

"Lizzie!"

I turn to see a familiar redheaded girl walking briskly in my direction and smile.

"Hey, Ginny! Want to join us?"

My friends echo my invitation when Ginny seems uncertain, and pretty soon Angelina has linked her arm around the younger Weasley's as well. We catch up with Hermione a few feet ahead, looking anxious next to a scowling Ron.

"Hermione!" I break off form my friend chain and grab her by the hand, pulling her toward our group of girls. She looks very happy to be away from Ron, who has started a conversation with Dean Thomas.

"Thank you," she sighs, "If I had to hear Ronald mutter under his breath one more time..."

"Let's be grateful we walked by when we did," Katie laughed.

Hermione and I walk a couple paces behind the other girls, our heads close together while they begin a conversation about how stubborn boys can be.

"Please tell me Harry has a plan for getting past his dragon," I grip Hermione's arm a bit too tightly.

"He does. We've been practicing all day." Hermione answers before looking around and biting her lip.

"You don't seem convinced."

"I'm worried," she nods, "I mean, it's a dragon, Lizzie! You don't think they'll let anybody get hurt, do you?"

"They'll get hurt," I answer, "Dumbledore just won't let them get killed. Come on, the others are moving faster."

My stomach is a ball of nerves by the time we take our seats.

"No camera today, Lizzie?" Colin Creevey asks from a few seats away, holding up his own device.

"If one of my closest friends gets roasted to a crisp I would rather not have it on print, Colin."

I can barely pay attention as the task begins, nor can I care much about the other champions, and I know Hermione is the same. Every time one of the other three gets a close call between them and the fire, we wince and look at each other.

"You okay?" Fred asks me quietly after Krum's performance. George's eyes flicker towards us, but he otherwise leaves us be.

"I'm just ready for this to be over."

"None of the others have gotten off too bad," Fred assured.

"But Harry only knows half as many spells as the rest of them," I say, chewing on my lip again.

"Harry's gotten past scarier things than dragons. He'll be fine. I've got five galleons on it."

I roll my eyes, but realize that I may be settling Harry short. He got past a troll when he was eleven, and that was something that not many grown wizards can do.

"Alright," I sigh, turning to Hermione as the Hungarian Horntail's cage gate opens to let her out, along with her eggs, "What's the plan, again?"

"We spent the entire day and night practicing a Summoning Charm," Hermione explains, "He seems to have mastered it."

"But Summoning the egg won't work. Bagman said so."

"He's not going to Summon the egg," Hermione smirked as Harry walked out to thunderous applause.

"Then what is he going to do?" I ask when the applause and cheers lowers a bit in volume.

"He just did it!" Hermione yells back, pointing at Harry as he stows his wand away.

For a moment, Harry just stands there looking toward the sky, and I'm convinced that whatever he had planned did not work. But before I can so much as tug on Hermione's arm, something long and brown zooms through the air into Harry's hand and he's suddenly flying high above the rest of us.

"Flying!" I shout gleefully, my hands grabbing onto Hermione's sweater, "Of course!"

The crowd roars as Harry hovers for only a moment.

"An excellent Summoning Charm, folks!" Ludo Bagman says from the commentary box, "Now, let's see Mr. Potter put that broom to use!"

Just then, Harry dives quickly toward the ground, and the dragon's head follows him. Just as the Horntail inhales, Harry pulls out of the dive in record time, leaving the stream of fire breath far below him.

"Great Scott, he can fly!" Bagman exclaims, the crowd shrieking even louder than before, "Take note, Mr. Krum!"

"What's he doing?" Hermione asks as Harry flies around in circles.

"He's making her dizzy, look," says Ginny, pointing at the Hungarian Horntail, large head, which is following Harry back and forth like a snake's head.

"Oh no," says Hermione just as the dragon opened it's mouth, her fingers rushing to her hairline and digging into her forehead.

Harry is fast enough to dive away from the flames, but not fast enough to entirely miss the large spiked tail that grazes his robes on the way down. I gasp, before going back to chewing on my lip until I'm fairly certain I broke the skin.

"Come on, Harry!"

"GO HARRY!"

"POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!"

The arena shakes with cheers, nearly three quarters of the Hogwarts students screaming for Harry. Even some of the Slytherins seem excited about Harry's performance. Half their Quidditch team looks reluctantly impressed. Meanwhile Harry soars higher and higher, the dragon's head following and rising with him until he is too far up for her to stay on the ground.

Finally, the dragon unfurls its wings, her front legs rising from the ground and away from her eggs.

Before the dragon can flap her wings a second time, Harry is already halfway toward the ground, arm stretching out to grab the golden egg in record time.

It's like somebody turned up the volume in the arena as Harry soars above the stands, golden egg under his arm and all. My worry disappears and all that is left is joy, relief, and pride as Hermione and I scream and clap as loud as the other Gryffindors. Even Ron, who had sat himself a few rows back with Seamus and Dean, looks absolutely thrilled for Harry.

"He was the fastest one!" Lee yells from behind me, holding up a timer and comparing it to the one Angelina and Katie are holding, "It took him half the time that Diggory did!"

Harry lands in front of Professor McGonagall, Professor Moody, and Hagrid with a slightly goofy smile on his face. The three teachers congratulate him quickly before sending him off to the medical tent to treat the cut on his shoulder.

"Come on, Hermione," I grab the girl's sleeve and begin to shove my way through the crowd and toward the medical tent. About halfway there, Ron walks up in front of us and starts moving people away so that the three of us can pass.

Ron quickly yanks back the tent opening to let us in, and I realize for the first time that he is as white as a sheet.

"Harry!" I grab his good shoulder and look him up and down before pulling him into a tight hug, "Thank goodness you're alright!"

Harry gasps, but places a hand on my back and sighs in relief anyway.

"Has anybody ever told you that you act like a mother hen?" Harry jokes.

"With friends like mine, some one has to," I smile, playfully patting his cheek and giving it a small pinch, which in turn makes him squirm.

"You were brilliant, Harry!" Hermione squeals, the fingernail marks still visible on her face.

Harry thanks her before looking warily at Ron. Hermione and I both take steps back, tensing as the two boys stare at each other for a beat.

"Harry, whoever put your name in that goblet – I – I reckon they're trying to do you in!"

I almost laugh, but Hermione looks about ready to cry so I decide to keep my amusement to myself.

"Caught on have you? Took you long enough."

Harry is so obviously pretending to be angry that I have to bite my tongue and breathe through my nose to keep a straight face.

"I-"

"It's okay, forget it."

Hermione lets out a sigh so long that I'm afraid she's collapse on the floor, and Harry stops Ron before he can try to apologize again. Before long the two of them are grinning at each other like idiots, and that's when Hermione actually _does_ burst into tears.

"There's nothing to cry about!" Harry says, obviously bewildered.

That's when I can no longer hold in a snort of laughter, and before long I'm apologizing to Hermione and she's assuring me that it's alright, and she's only crying because the boys are so stupid.

"Go check your scores, Harry," I say, finally getting serious and patting Hermione on the back, "But give Hermione a hug first."

Hermione quickly hugs each of the boys while they stand awkwardly and barely have time to react, and then I lead her out of the medical tent and back to the edge of the stands.

"Is she alright?" Angelina asks me.

"The boys made up," I explain, to which she and Katie nod in understanding and each give a sniffling Hermione a pat on the back.

After the points are tallied, the champions go back to their tent and the crowd starts to dissipate. Ron and Hermione decide to wait for Harry, but my friends drag me away to help plan a surprise party.

"Tell Harry to write to Padfoot later," I say to Hermione as the twins almost carry me away with their arms linked around each of mine.

"We'll go as soon as he finishes up here," Ron answers, "See you in the Common Room."

I wiggle out of the twins' grip and begin to walk up to the castle without assistance. Lee takes Fred's place beside me.

"Lizzie, you wouldn't happen to have anything dragon related in your repertoire of fireworks, would you?"

"Nothing small enough for the common room," I shake my head, "But let me sneak down to the dungeons and see what I can do about that."

"The dungeons?" Angelina asks, "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Not for me," I wink, "I think I'm beginning to get on Snape's good side."

"Snape has a good side?" Katie snorts.

"Yes. Somewhere deep, deep, deep down beneath layer and layers of coal and ice, Snape has a good side," I nod, "Now, do you want fire breathing dragon fireworks that won't light the couches on fire or not?"

"Yes, please." says Lee.

"Then leave me alone to brew and charm in peace. Also, I might need a few fireworks from your stash. I'm running low and this is going to require a lot of recycling. I'll buy you new ones when we go to Hogsmeade."

"Take whatever you need," Lee waves his hand, speeding up to prepare the rest of the party.

* * *

"Lizzie, I need to speak to you."

"Fred, I'm brewing." I answer, adding lacewing flies to the deep blue liquid in the cauldron.

"Miss Black, keep stirring."

"Yes, Professor."

"Rosebud, come here." my dad calls form the door of the dungeon.

"I can't, Dad, I have to keep brewing."

"Rose, we need to go." Mum says from behind him.

"I can't. I have to keep brewing."

"Lizzie, run with me," Fred says from beside me, holding out his hand. Behind him, the dungeon is replaced by a forest.

"Elizabeth, do not stop stirring!" Snape snaps from my other side, the dungeon feeling drafty around me once more.

"Lizzie, we have to go!" Mum says urgently from the forest.

"I have to keep brewing!" I yell back.

"Stop brewing!"

"Don't stop stirring!"

"Lizzie! RUN!"

"Keep brewing!"

"RUN!"

"HE'S COMING!"

"Harry?"

"KEEP STIRRING!"

"_Something is coming..."_

"RUUUUUUN!"

"AAAHHHH!"

I sit up so quickly that my hair flips forward, wet with sweat.

"Lizzie?" a groan comes from the bed next to mine, "Are you alright?"

"Sorry, Katie," I mutter, "Nightmare. It's fine."

"We could go get Madame Pomphrey..." Romilda suggests hesitantly.

"I'm fine. Really. It was just a stupid dream. Go back to sleep," I persuade.

The other girls in the dorm shrug and go back to sleep, but Katie keeps looking at me.

"I'm fine, Katie. Really. It was just a normal nightmare."

"Fine. But if you have another one, I'm telling Pomphrey."

Katie burrows under the covers again and soon enough her breath evens out with sleep.

I stare at the clock that marks four twenty-five. I've slept little over three hours, but I know that there will be no going back to sleep after this. Just a few minutes before sunrise, I sit out on the window sill to watch the horizon change, wondering what else is going to change.


	12. A VERY IMPORTANT NOTE

**A/N:**

**Hi, everyone. I want to thank everybody who has stuck with Lizzie up until now, and to all of the followers, favoriters, and reviewers I send lots of hugs. This story is NOT BEING ABANDONED. I will be going on a temporary hiatus with this story, and both the first story and this one will be going through revision and some REWRITES, including a change from first person POV to third person POV, because I feel like I can expand so much more on the way that Lizzie affects other people in the story, and not just how the story affects Lizzie.**

**I hope to be back soon, but for now I will be focusing mostly on my MCU series, which is currently on Part II.**

**Thank you again to everybody who has stuck with Lizzie and me so far. **


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